


Crazy On You

by Ceeahrr



Category: Rush (TV), Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 103,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceeahrr/pseuds/Ceeahrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow up to "Something's Gotta Give." Franky and Erica are firmly ensconced in a satisfying BDSM relationship, but continue to attract unwanted attention from others. Franky and Erica talk about starting a family and they both spend time getting to know Franky's sister.</p><p>"Crazy on You" is a Heart song written by Ann and Nancy Wilson. My hometown girls!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Doing Alright

“I think we need to have a conversation about threesomes.”  
  
Erica and Franky sat together in the same side of a booth at their favorite Italian restaurant in downtown Melbourne. Erica froze, a spiny bit of calamari on a fork halfway between her lips. She put it back on the plate. “Ahhh, here? Now?” Blonde eyebrows arched high under blonde fringe.  
  
“Yes,” Franky said. “I need to get this image out of my head.”  
  
“Okay.” Erica looked around, surreptitiously checking to see if there was anyone they knew in the restaurant. Everything seemed clear, aside from the familiar wait staff. She turned her attention back to Franky, who was very focused.  
  
Several weeks back, Franky had learned that she had a twin sister. Stella Dagostino was a Tactical Response Team special force officer who had saved Franky’s life twice over the past year; and who was there when Erica was threatened by a mad man. Being the focus of the action and confusion of those highly intense events, Franky hadn’t had much of a chance to look at Stella. Franky had concentrated on getting out of there with her and Erica’s skin intact. She had filed away in the back of her mind that the officer looked weirdly like herself, but hadn’t really thought more of it.  
  
Stella, on the other hand, had a good look at Franky, particularly when she was kidnapped and barely conscious. It was like looking into a mirror. She did some research and discovered that, Franky was, in fact, her identical twin. When she questioned her parents about it, they said they were always going to give her as much information about her birth family as she wanted, but she’d never asked. Which was true. Stella had a good life inside the Dagostino fold and hadn’t even really been curious about her “birth” family. But once she saw her twin, found the birth certificate, she made herself known to Franky Doyle.  
  
Franky immediately took Stella home to meet Erica. Erica had completely gobsmacked Franky later that evening in bed, by declaring that “she wan’t opposed to the idea of being in the middle of a Franky-Stella sandwich.”  
  
The formerly repressed Miss Davidson had come a long way in the year plus since Franky had stolen her heart. The carnal attraction and emotional attachment that had sprouted inside Wentworth had fully blossomed, after some early hurdles.  
  
Franky Doyle and Erica Davidson shared a spectacularly perfectly matched affinity for a kink: bondage, dominance, sadism and masochism, or BDSM. Their relationship was largely focused on the dominance, submission and discipline aspects. Franky had understood her true nature relatively early in her sexual life, and had spent years perfecting her craft, going so far as to tattoo a dominatrix onto her arm. Erica, when she met Franky, was completely clueless, yet was drawn inexorably to Franky like a magnet.  
  
With Franky inside prison and subject to the strict hierarchy and behavioral rules, Erica was unable to see what was developing between the two. She knew she found Franky Doyle attractive — who didn’t? Despite her perception of her own heterosexuality and long term engagement to Mark, she allowed herself to flirt with the brash, green-eyed woman. Especially as Erica was safely embedded in the strictly controlled interactions mandated by her role as prison staff relative to a prisoner. She had fun playing, flirting, tutoring Franky. The girl was ridiculously smart and quite funny. She didn’t actually belong in Wentworth, Erica quickly realized, and set about doing everything she could to ensure Franky had the skills to get out and do well. She had just had some bad breaks in life. Well, the anger issues needed to be worked through; but Franky Doyle did deserve a second chance.  
  
Erica completely underestimated the reverse angle of this relationship: Franky’s impact on her. She became a bit unnerved when Franky crept into her dreams, very sexual dreams that had her waking up panting, sweating, on the edge of orgasm. And then when she became governor and needed to shift to a much more formal relationship with her younger charge, Franky simply refused to comply. She continued to call her “Erica,” instead of the more appropriate “Miss Davidson” or “Governor.” She continued to tease and flirt. Erica began to unravel as she realized she couldn’t control, not just Franky Doyle, but her own responses. And the more she tried to dominate their interactions the more out of control she felt, the more Franky seemed to know it, becoming brasher, less compliant, often violating her personal space.  
  
In fact, Franky seemed much more in control of their encounters than Erica. It was infuriating. And Erica kept going back for more, having the prisoner brought in for one-on-one’s for all sorts of ridiculous reasons, just to be near her. To see that smile. To hear that voice. To feel the electricity tingle along her arms, between her legs, when Franky chewed her bottom lip, that tantalizing tongue swiping across.  
  
And then that damned kiss. Erica had called Franky in to the Governor’s office under the guise of “making the prison a better place for the women.” Franky had read her like a book.  
  
_“No, why am I really here?” Franky asked again, chuckling._  
  
_“If you don’t want to help me, then just leave.”_  
  
_“You don’t care about the women,” Franky replied._  
  
_Erica rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go!”_  
  
_“It’s all bullshit. You’re hiding in here with us. You get off on being here.”_  
  
_Erica stared for a moment, letting her anger build. How dare this… inmate… speak to her like that? She was completely infuriating, showing absolutely no respect for boundaries. Erica stood, going to the door to open it, to command Franky to leave. Dismiss her. “Get out,” she said forcefully. As she reached for the knob, she heard Franky’s voice. Too close to her ear. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she turned to find Franky practically on top of her. She drew back._  
  
_“The thing that scares you the most, is…” Franky said, placing a firm hand on Erica’s belly._  
  
_It burned, where Franky touched Erica. And she was caught in that emerald gaze, drawn in by the heat she could feel off Franky’s skin, allowing herself to be pushed into the corner behind the door, where they couldn’t been seen through the glass walls. She could have pushed back. She could have made enough noise to bring a screw running. There was no reason to end up trapped in that corner._  
  
_“The thing that scares you the most…” Franky continued, pushing herself against the Governor, “…is that when you’re fucking him, you’re thinking of me.” She grinned._  
  
_“Get out!” Erica slapped at her, a feeble yet documentable attempt to push Franky away. At least she had pretended to resist. Later she could claim to have been forced. Franky pushed back, and kissed her._  
  
_Erica was good at following rules. She knew she should fight this and she did. She resisted, made a distressed sound, struggled for several seconds. That’s what she was supposed to do. But she had immediately understood that this was what she had wanted from Franky Doyle all along. Her lips were like velvet, yet firm and commanding. Erica’s body, her mouth, her lips betrayed her completely by kissing Franky back. When she felt the tip of Franky’s tongue she opened her mouth automatically, as if programmed for this, suppressing a cry of disappointment when Franky pulled away._  
  
_It was intoxicating. Delicious. Erica wanted more. Franky stared at her for several seconds, her expression unreadable. Erica watched her, desperate, pleading with her eyes for Franky to continue, to devour her. Erica wanted more. Much more. She was on fire._  
  
_Then that cocky grin appeared as Franky moved to the door. One last look, that damn tongue against her lower lip, and Franky was gone._  
  
_Erica had been the one commanded and dismissed. She felt her knees shaking as she finally started to breathe again, leaning against the wall for support._  
  
_After several minutes she’d gone back to her desk, putting her face in her hands as her mind ran riot with images of what Franky could do to her. What she wanted Franky to do to her. What she wanted to do to Franky. And she knew she would let it happen. That she had as much as telegraphed that to Franky with her easy capitulation and desperate, wild, silent plea for more. She knew Franky would use her, and she would do the prisoner’s bidding gladly for more of those kisses. No telling what she would do for… more. She would be completely ruined._  
  
_Erica opened her laptop and began to write her resignation._  
  
They didn’t see one another, have any communication for nearly three years. Erica immediately married her fiance of eight years, Mark Pearson, and pretended that little thing in the Governor’s office never happened. When asked about her abrupt departure, she admitted to being in slightly over her head, that she realized her career was going in a direction further away from starting a family with Mark than she intended, and that she was making a life-choice decision to focus her time and aspirations differently. Two years remained until Franky’s parole; and then another year passed while Franky finished law school, found a high-profile firm to accept her as a first year associate, and prepared herself to take Erica back.  
  
And she had. Outside the confines of Wentworth, Erica was completely at her mercy. Thankfully, the older woman had understood this quickly and not wasted too much time fighting Franky about it. It had taken several months for Erica to finally understand what true submission was and to assume her role; but she was a natural. Once she understood the balance of power and control they wielded together, Erica took to the BDSM lifestyle with Franky eagerly, slowly divesting herself of inhibitions — at least privately with Franky and in the bedroom.  
  
In fact, since their honeymoon, Franky had been often surprised and delighted at how unfiltered Erica became. A month in Tahiti and a little encouragement from Franky had unleashed some delightful new play. And Erica sharing her fantasies. Out loud. And she had a very, very dirty mind, Franky was pleased to learn. Nothing new or shocking for Franky, but just so discordant with the staid, smooth, genteel demeanor that Erica displayed to everyone else. Franky was beyond smitten with this woman.  
  
Well, nothing new or shocking until this Franky-Stella sandwich business.  
  
Franky wasn’t at all worried about a threesome. Been there, done that. But was Erica serious about Stella? Franky really was open to doing just about anything Erica could come up with; but she might have to draw a line here. And besides. Erica wasn’t ready for a threesome with anyone. Where had that come from? And they really needed to talk through how the hell Erica thought Franky would be in bed with her own friggin’ sister. Seriously? Just… no. But Erica had said it. It hadn’t come up again since, but Franky needed resolution. She didn’t want that popping out of Erica’s mouth again. At any time.  
  
The waiter picked that moment to refill their water glasses.  
  
“Have you actually had sex with more than one person before?” Franky asked.  
  
The waiter froze momentarily, almost overfilling a glass, but smoothly recovered.  
  
Erica’s blush reached her hairline as she nodded affirmatively, trying not to look at the waiter. She stayed focused on Franky so as not to crawl under the table.  
  
“Fuck!” Franky exclaimed, both eyebrows going up. “This is something I would not have guessed, Honey.” She turned her attention to the waiter. “I think I need something a little harder than wine. Can you bring me a vodka martini? Dirty?”  
  
“And bourbon for me. Woodford Reserve, please,” Erica said, clearing her throat. The waiter nodded and left. Erica cleared her throat again. “Well, it doesn’t naturally flow into any conversation, Franky,” she said quietly, hoping no one else was hearing them. Franky wasn’t concerned about other people hearing her say racy things. Erica hadn’t reached that level of public display yet. “Do we really need to talk about this here?” She said, her voice low, scrunching her brow.  
  
“Yeah. We do. How many times have you been in a menage-a-trois, Erica?” Franky grinned, cheekily.  
  
Erica sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. She was a sub. She had to answer. But she didn’t have to admit that she liked it when Franky teased her in public. She leaned in close to her lover, close enough to kiss her. “A lot. At university. And law school,” she whispered. Knowing Franky now knew this about her made her warm.  
  
Franky narrowed her gaze, thinking on this. Then leaned forward, kissing Erica lightly, pulling back slightly. “You liked sex with women but didn’t want to be a lesbian,” Franky read her. She did that a lot.  
  
“Yes,” Erica breathed, leaning in and kissing Franky again. They were in a booth and not visible to everyone in the restaurant, but this was still quite daring for Erica.  
  
Franky sat back a bit. She was getting distracted and Erica was getting aroused. “So how is it that you were so shy about going down on me?”  
  
Erica closed her eyes, mortified. And getting uncomfortably warm. At least the waiter wasn’t around to hear that. “I didn’t do _that_ , Franky. I was the girl letting my boyfriend have two girls. I never did _that_. Girls did that to me. And I thought I would be more interesting to you if you thought I was straight,” she said, giving into the conversation. She sat back and picked up her fork. “I never said I wasn’t into women. Besides. I like when you tell me what you want. What you like. Give instructions.” She smiled wickedly, wrinkling her nose, then put a bit of calamari in her mouth.  
  
Franky was tickled. Erica loved being told what to do in bed. She was still getting used to it in other spaces. “You could have been a nun, Erica Davidson-Doyle. You would have still ended up having super hot sex with me.”  
  
Erica pictured herself in a habit, in a church. With Franky. Her smile back was again naughty. “I don’t doubt it,” she said.  
  
Franky kept going, trying to stay open to this next bit. “So, tell me about what’s in your dirty little mind concerning Stella.”  
  
Erica blushed. “Oh God, Franky. Umm… That was weeks ago.” The wicked smile was replaced by real self-consciousness. She looked down at her plate, pushed a breaded ring around with her fork. “I guess I didn’t really think it through. When I first saw her, it was just like, ‘Jackpot! Two Frankys! Twice the fun!’”  
  
“Unh huh.”  
  
“But now that we’ve spent time with her, know her a bit better, I can’t quite wrap my head around it. I love that you have a sister. I like her very much.” She looked sheepish. “Great exercise in immediate objectification, though, aye?”  
  
Franky did a mental fist pump, sighing with relief at that disaster averted. “Right. Good on ya. So any other thoughts about a threesome? Is that something you want to do?”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“Not opposed to it, if it’s something you’re ready for. But I may have to kill the girl afterwards. Or maybe just blind her before hand.” She stopped. “Or were you thinking about the two of us having sex with a man?”  
  
The waiter brought their drinks in time to hear that last question and lingered, trying to catch the next bit of conversation. Erica glared at him and he scurried away.  
  
“No,” she said with a bit of irritation. _What did that waiter think, they were going to invite him into their bedroom?_ “Neither, actually, Franky. I would definitely stab anyone that touched you. It was only a fun thought when it was two of you. I’m still a jealous harpy at heart.” She took a drink of her scotch. “So I don’t know what you have in mind. But it better not include having anyone else in our bed.”  
  
Franky caught her chin and kissed her soundly. “Mmmmm. You’re my jealous harpy.” She kissed her again, lingering over the flavor of the scotch mixed with Erica. “And I’m definitely keeping you to myself. For now.”  
  
********************************  
  
Franky and Stella hadn’t managed to spend much time together, due to their lives already being very full with work. Both worked long hours, but especially Stella with the Tactical Response Team. So Stella invited Franky to run with her on the mornings. It turned out that Stella ran about the same 15k that Franky had become accustomed to, running between her old loft and Erica’s flat. But Stella had a much faster pace. The first couple of times they ran together, Franky practically threw up at the finish, and Stella slowed down so as not to completely leave her sister behind. But Franky had pushed herself, and quickly got to a place where she could keep up without Stella slowing down, and wasn’t so winded afterward that they had time to talk.  
  
Franky sometimes showered with Stella at Tactical Response, so they would have more time together. Except for Franky’s tattoos and some odd scars, they were, in fact, completely identical. Down to their crescent moon birthmark. Oh. And the several small, circular marks across Franky’s belly.  
  
This morning, Stella blinked at them. Blinked at Franky. She was a police officer and had seen many kinds of abuse — physical and emotional. She knew what those scars were. They hadn’t talked much about Franky’s childhood — she was pretty clear it was bad and nothing more need be said. But if she was physically abused, Stella wanted to know. She finally decided to ask the question.  
  
“Franks.” She looked pointedly at the marks again. “Who did that to you?”  
  
“Mum,” Franky said simply. She’d spent a lot of time with Gidge and with Erica talking through her issues with her mum. She had let go of most of the anger. Her mum had been a weak, sad, dysfunctional woman who gave away one child and abused the other.  
  
Stella looked away, then back. Her eyes were teary. “Fuck. I wish we had been together. We would have looked after each other.  
  
Franky didn’t make eye contact as she dressed. She responded slowly, evenly. “We can look after each other now. Forward.” She tied her shoes. “Leave it. We’re here now.”  
  
Stella dressed as well. “I know. I know. But fuckall… Who does that to a kid?” She couldn’t stop a few tears from falling.  
  
Franky had actually spent a good amount of time with Gidge over the few weeks since Stella Dagastino had come into her life. When she’d heard about Stella’s childhood growing up in a highly functional family — _sounded like fucking rainbows and sunshine with a side of bunnies_ — she was extremely angry, again, at her parents. Why hadn’t they given both girls up? Why did she end up with the short end of the stick? It wasn’t that she wished anything bad for Stella, by any means. But Franky did go back down the rabbit hole of feeling like something bad was about to happen, that she didn’t deserve anything good happening to her, for her. That things with Erica would go pear-shaped any day now. It was fated. She got stuck with the selfish, abusive parents. She ended up in prison. She was kidnapped and nearly killed. Her life was just destined to be a series of unfortunate events.  
  
She struggled against that line of thinking now. She didn’t want Stella’s pity.  
  
Shannon entered the locker room at that moment and slowed down as she saw Stella’s teary face and Franky’s glower. “Uh, how you going, Stel? Franky?” She continued to her locker, opening it and looking back over her shoulder at the other two women.  
  
Franky jumped at the out. She had been ready to angrily pounce on her twin. She pounced, playfully, on Shannon instead. “Nothing a quick snog with you wouldn’t cure,” she said saucily, walking up behind Shannon and winking at her in the small mirror attached to Shannon’s locker door.  
  
Shannon grinned as she pulled off her t-shirt. “I doubt your partner would appreciate that.”  
  
Franky gathered her things. “Definitely not. But I bet you would.” She licked her lips, then turned back to Stella, who had regained her composure.  
  
“I’m sorry, Franks,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I…”  
  
“Drop it, Stel,” Franky said, pulling Stella in for a tight hug. “Done. Capice? You got my back now, yeah?” Stella nodded, squeezing her back. “All good then. Can you come for dinner this week?” Franky ruffled Stella's hair.  
  
“Yeah,” Stella said, slapping Franky's hand away. “Hey!” She caught Franky’s wrist as she walked toward the exit. “I know you’re right, but maybe I can run Erica through some self-defense techniques? You two seem to be a magnet for trouble.”  
  
“Good idea. Let’s talk Erica through it when you come for dinner.” Did Stella have a bad feeling about Franky’s life, her fate, too?  
  
Franky left the building.


	2. You’re Doing Fine

Erica had begun volunteering at a group home for young women. These were women between 12 and 18, who had been emancipated from their parents, taken by social services, or simply orphaned. She was interested in this age group because this would have been the age when an appropriate intervention in Franky’s life may have kept her out of prison. Everything in her world revolved around Franky Davidson Doyle. It was true that her passion had always been women caught in the criminal justice system. But it was personal now, not just a cause.  
  
She tutored the young women at the home, as well as serving as pro bono counsel for the organization. Half of her time was spent talking with staff and the girls about their legal rights and responsibilities toward getting out of the system. Her tutoring covered many subjects, but was mostly focused on helping the young women complete their HSC. And Erica had a remarkable success rate. The women really took to her.  
  
Several of them had crushes on her. One in particular was a fourteen-year-old, a plain girl, very needy. Her name was Christina but she spelled it with an “X”. Xtina. And she liked to be called X.  Erica had a hard time entertaining this. The girl was so scrawny and nervous. She didn’t have any friends in the home and the other girls picked on her. Calling her X seemed like acknowledging, supporting a pretense at a bravado that didn’t exist. Setting her up for a beat down. None of the other staff or residents called Christina “X.” They all called her Chris. Christina didn’t answer.  
  
Erica had talked with Franky about it and Franky had advised her to use the name the girl wanted, if she actually was bent on connecting with her, helping her. So Erica tried.  
  
“Chri.. X,” Erica started. Christina was such a lovely name. Even Chris was nice. She was in her bedroom, which was shared with several other girls, when Erica arrived for her four hour shift. “I’m guessing that since you’re in your room, you’ve finished your homework.”  
  
Christina frowned. “I’ll get to it.”  
  
“You should get to it now, then,” Erica said sternly. This was a routine with them. Christina was constantly trying to get Erica’s attention, misbehaving just for her, so that there would have to be some interpersonal exchange.  
  
“I hate it when you’re not here, Erica,” Christina scowled. “Why can’t you come every day?”  
  
Erica stretched out her hand toward the girl, coaxing her off the bed. “I’m sorry, X. You know I have to work. And I have a lot of other commitments. I can be here two days a week. That’s all. You know that.”  
  
Christina slid off the bed and reached for the older woman’s hand, her expression brightening as their skin touched. “I’ll be fifteen soon. Can I get a position in your office? I’m really good at typing and research.”  
  
Erica pulled her into the main room where there were other young women studying. “We can look into that. But you have to get your HSC first. Focus.” Christina wasn’t actually so good at research. She just liked to surf the internet. Not the same thing.  
  
The girl smiled shyly. “Okay, Erica.” She embraced her quickly, a hard, fast hug that took Erica a bit off guard. Christina sat down with her books. Erica moved around the room, checking in on the other students, aware that Christina spent as much time watching her as focused in her book.  
  
An hour later, Erica was out in the drive walking up with Franky, who had agreed to come give a talk to the girls. This was a new program Erica had implemented at the house — monthly guest lectures — that had proven extremely popular. Bridget Westfall was queued up to come next.  
  
The girls in the house were all in the system; some had even been in a juvenile facility for some time. None had actually been to prison. This was an intervention program. They had all been very enthusiastic about the prospect of a true ex convict coming to talk with them.  
  
“They’re all super excited to meet you, Franky.” Erica said, bumping her partner’s shoulder. They both looked up at the house to see a cluster of young women plastered to the front window and crowded in the doorway.  
  
“Sheesh,” Franky said. “They don’t get out much?”  
  
“Be nice,” Erica said. “But don’t be too charming. I don’t want to have to mend a bunch of broken hearts when you finish here.”  
  
Franky stopped and grabbed Erica’s hand. “You know,” she grinned, “you could just kiss me now and put any speculation about my status to rest.”  
  
Erica blushed. “No, Franky! The last thing these girls need is more information about my personal life! I have to come here twice a week.”  
  
Franky sighed. “I don’t know why you always think secrets are the best route. I know the barrister thing about not offering up information. But you take that to ridiculous levels, Erica. Why don’t you just tell them you’re married. To me! I’m sure half dozen of these rugrats have a crush on you. Stop leading them on, already.”  
  
Erica rolled her eyes. “Come on, then!” She tugged Franky up to the entrance.  
  
The talk went about as Erica expected. The girls were completely smitten with Franky. Afterward, Erica walked Franky back to her car at the curb in front of the house. As Franky opened the door to her Audi, Erica pressed herself against her spouse, putting her arms about Franky’s neck.  
  
“Whoa,” Franky smirked. “To what do I owe this public display?”  
  
“To the more than half of the girls in that house that literally swooned over you. I’ve never seen such a thing in my life. That was ridiculous,” Erica grumbled. Really. Franky had charmed the pants off them. Erica was never going to hear the end to questions about Franky Doyle, when she would be back, blah blah blah. She knew she was being at least as childish as the girls, but couldn’t help it. “Now I’m going to have to try to not smack them all every time they ask me about you. So let’s be clear.”  
  
“If you would just do what I tell you, Erica…” Franky leaned in. She was never going to argue with Erica about kissing her. She pushed her tongue into Erica’s mouth, not allowing this to be some chaste display for the minions. Erica’s swift intake of breath made Franky smile into the kiss, take it a bit deeper. She was pleased when Erica didn’t try to end it too quickly, or pull back. They had come a long way since Franky had dipped her backwards at Smith’s pub nearly a year ago, when Erica had practically had a stroke because Franky touched her in public.  
  
Erica stayed in it, relishing the feel of Franky’s kiss. Again, it occurred to her that it was ridiculous not to do this as often as possible. She seriously needed to unflex that muscle that she’d developed over a decade with Mark, the one where she was subconsciously pushing him away all the time. Franky wasn’t Mark. Erica was addicted to Franky’s touch, which literally melted her. She should be kissing Franky wherever and whenever Franky wanted to do it. When they finally pulled away from each other, Erica was slightly breathless. “Mmmm. Nice.”  
  
“Yeah,” Franky agreed, leaning in for another quick one. “What time are you coming home?”  
  
“I finish here at 8. I’ll be home shortly after.”  
  
Franky looked over Erica’s shoulder at the house. They had a full audience. “I think you made your point,” she smiled, kissed Erica again. “But Christina — I think that was her name — is giving me serious stink eye. She has it bad for you, aye Erica?” Franky glared back at the young woman, who finally averted her hostile gaze.  
  
“See!?! Even you can’t call her X! I don’t know. I guess. She’s so needy. I try to give her a bit more attention than most — I feel badly for her. She's mostly a good kid, but she’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer and is really struggling to get past her exams.”  
  
“Yeah. She’s creepy. Be careful about her.”  
  
“She’s a child, Franky.”  
  
“She’s a creepy child. I’m just saying. Watch her. And call when you’re on your way.”  
  
“So you can boot all your party girls from the flat before I get there? Not a chance.”  
  
Franky grinned, winked, and left.  
  
*****************************  
  
Franky and Stella sat out on the lanai at Franky and Erica’s St. Kilda flat, sharing a bottle of pinot gris. They were waiting for Erica to come back from her volunteer stint at the halfway house before starting on dinner, which Franky and Stella had prepared. Franky was teaching Stella some kitchen skills in exchange for Stella giving Erica self-defense lessons.  
  
“But wait,” Stella was saying. “I’m reckless because I’m a bit thick. I get into trouble because of me. But I don’t just attract violent criminals to try and kill me, like you seem to. And how in the world does Erica Davidson fit into all of that? She’s such a society girl. How has she not run from you, screaming?”  
  
“Because I’m awesome? Jeez, Stel,” Franky grinned, good-naturedly. “And I have a bit of reckless in me, aye,” Franky said. “It’s not like things just miraculously happen to me. I make decisions, choices. Not always good ones.”  
  
“Yeah. Me too in the bad decisions department.” Stella had almost lost her career recently because of a seriously bad choice. She’d been arrested street racing with her new girlfriend. Kerry Vincent, her boss, kicked her ass but helped her clean up the predicament by letting on to the other officers that Stella was working an under cover angle. Stella had had to bust her girlfriend’s mate. Personally. She was still smarting from it. That relationship wasn’t going to last. And Kerry still had her walking a fine line. “But you didn’t choose to get kidnapped, or have a vendetta against you by a psychotic woman.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I got myself into prison, in front of that Freak. Can’t blame anyone for that.” Franky frowned at the memory of Ferguson’s rampage. “The hostage thing was fucked up, though. And Erica. I can’t even begin to explain that one. Just lucky, for once in my fucked up fucking fuck of a life. Struck gold. Golden girl, my Erica.”  
  
Stella turned sideways in the adirondack chair. “Yeah. For real though. How did that happen? Where did you meet?  Aye, your chemistry is… crazy intense.” She took a sip from her glass. “I want that. For me. It’s gorgeous.”  
  
Franky half smiled at her. She wasn’t ready to talk to Stella about what had happened at Wentworth with Erica. Or anyone, for that matter. The pain was still there, the sharp cut where Erica abandoned her without a word. The devastating shock of it all, after the euphoria of their first kiss. “Yeah.” She thought about sharing her BDSM proclivity with Stella instead. Maybe that was something they had in common. “Um. What do you like to do, in bed?”  
  
Stella rolled her eyes. “Hah! What kind of question is that?”  
  
On second thought, maybe this wasn’t something Stella would be able to handle. Even though she was a cop, she came across as a bit naive and happy-go-lucky. But she and Stel had developed an easy rapport and deep trust quickly. Franky was surprised at how attached she felt to this girl. Even though she knew intellectually they were twins, it was still novel, disorienting to feel such an affinity for anyone. Well, except for Erica. And she was having a hard time overriding her default distrust of everyone and everything. Even though Stel seemed as playful and loyal as a labrador retriever.  
  
Franky went out on a limb anyway. No one could call her coward. _Embrace the miracle, Doyle._ “Well, part of what makes things so intense for me and Erica is that we have amazing sex.”  
  
Stella’s eyes widened. “ _Aroo_?” Stella growled, mimicking Scooby Doo.  
  
Franky stifled a laugh. The girl was so goofy. Would Franky have been so carefree and light, if she’d been a Dagostino too? Would Stella have been angry if she’d been raised a Doyle?  
  
“Seriously? ‘Cuz I’m thinking you’re not much into mellow yellow rooting.” Her eyes widened further. “You have a dom tattoo. That makes Erica…”  
  
“Kinky as _fuck_.” Franky finished for her. “She’s unbelievable in bed, Stel. Just… there really aren’t words.”  
  
“ _Ruh roh, Raggy_ ,” Stella groaned, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I think one of my eyeballs just exploded. Does she have a sister? A brother? Hell, a cat?”  
  
Franky spit out the wine she had just partially swallowed, choking and laughing.  
  
Stella looked over at Franky, smiling widely, laughing herself. “I’m not kidding,” she continued. “Will she marry me too? I don’t mind being second wife. Wait… do you have one of those, like, open relationships? Do you have sex with other people?”  
  
Franky laughed harder, picturing Erica’s expression with that proposition. “No. And do _not_ give her any ideas. Find your own girlfriend!”  Erica chose that moment to enter the flat.  
  
“Well come on, then, Franks. Help a sister out. Hook me up with one of your mates. I can go either way. Just has to be hot like your girl Erica,” Stella continued, her voice low. She had quickly become completely rapt, smitten with Franky. Franky was only a few minutes older, but felt like a missing half Stella didn’t know had been gone. A more sophisticated, incredibly fascinating, sharp around the edges, yet thoroughly charming older sister in ways that Stella had yet to learn. She couldn’t get enough of Franky. And Erica.  
  
Erica came out to the lanai, dropping into Franky’s lap. “Hey, Stella,” Erica said, then leaned in to Franky for a kiss.  
  
Franky obliged quickly kissing her possessively, for Stella’s benefit. And for her own.  
  
Erica delighted in the feel of Franky against her lips, in her mouth, pulling Franky in tighter, prolonging the contact. She hadn’t known Stella was going to be here. Erica had an intense time at the halfway house after Franky left, talking the girls down about Franky, about her relationship with Franky. And Christina had been positively bratty.  
  
_Erica was packing up for the evening to head home. Christina, who had refused to speak to her until that moment, approached her aggressively._  
  
_“You should have told me you are a lesbian, Erica,” Christina whined._  
  
_“Not that it’s any of your business, Chr… X.” Erica answered her. “Does it bother you?”_  
  
_“I like girls too! I like you, Erica!”_  
  
_Erica smiled. “Oh, X. I like you too. I really want you to succeed. And I’m old enough to be your mother, you know. I’m 34”_  
  
_“I don’t want you to be my mother! I don’t think Franky is a good match for you. I’m sure she cheats on you all the time. Didn’t you see her flirting with Alex? And with Gia? And like, six other girls here?”_  
  
_Erica tried not to laugh. Of course she’d seen that. And was almost as petulant about it as Christina. “Christina. I mean X. It’s time for me to go home, to my partner.”_  
  
_“Franky!”_  
  
_“Yes…”_  
  
_“I hate her! I wish she were dead!”_  
  
_“That’s a horrible thing to say, X, about anyone. Let alone someone I love. Franky and I are married. Forever. We love each other.” Erica wondered, again, how she could know this, absolutely, but continued to be peaked by the flirting. She sighed. Things had taken a hard left turn with Christina this afternoon. Erica already anticipated the increased acting out. She wondered if there was any helping this girl at all. “If you and I are going to be friends, you’re going to have accept that.”_  
  
_"I don’t want to be friends!” Christina threw herself at Erica, holding her tightly._  
  
_Erica was exasperated, tired. She peeled the younger woman off her body. “Your choice, X.” And she left._  
  
Now Erica was looking forward to some intense bedroom play. But it was going to have to wait, clearly. She normally would have felt slightly embarrassed at kissing so passionately in front of someone they knew. But not tonight. And Stella might as well get used to it if they were going to continue spending time together.  
  
“Damn, Erica!” Stella whistled. “What do I have to do to get you to kiss me like that when you come home?”  
  
Erica reluctantly ended the kiss.  
  
“Yeah, Erica,” Franky egged her. “What does Stel have to do to get you to kiss her like that when you come home?”  
  
“She has to be you, Franky,” Erica said simply. She stood up and kissed the top of Stella’s head. Stella grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.” Erica took Franky’s wine glass, drinking it as she headed inside toward the range. She pulled the lid off a pot and inhaled.  
  
Franky smirked at Stella.  
  
Stella stuck her tongue out at Franky. “I might be able to pull that off, you know,” Stella said.  
  
“Don’t even think about it!” Both Franky and Erica said in unison.  
  
*******************************  
  
After dinner, after Stella was gone, Franky was finishing loading the dishwasher when she realized Erica was nowhere to be seen. She closed the machine and pressed the start button, then turned off all the lights in the front of the flat on her way back to the master bedroom.  
  
She was still a bit incredulous that barely a year and a half after she’d seduced Erica in the free world, they were living together in a swanky flat, married, and contemplating babies. At these moments, Franky became giddy with the power and fulfillment of loving Erica Davidson. When the dark cloud could not penetrate the blinding sunshine of life with her golden girl.  
  
She turned the corner into the room and stopped short. They had bought a new, specially designed bondage bed. It had a narrow platform all around the edges with a series of rings, which flattened invisibly against the wood when not in use. But when needed, provided perfect and easily accessed loops for securing one’s appendages -- or other toys -- with rope, silk, whatever your fancy.  
  
Erica was lying face down, spread eagle on the bed. She had put on a bondage bra and knickers, then cuffed her ankles and wrists in soft leather lined with fur. Bondage implements were laid out so Franky could tie her to the four corners of the bed. Franky took a deep breath. She hadn’t expected this. Stella had distracted her from really paying attention to Erica. She must have had a rough time after Franky left her at the girls’ home.  
  
Franky stayed in the doorway for a few minutes, contemplating her next move. What she wanted to do was to lay down next to Erica, pull her into her arms and ask her what happened. Franky had missed Erica’s cues all evening that this was brewing. She should by now have been completely attuned to what Erica would need, what implements to use. But Stella had thoroughly distracted her with her adolescent antics. Franky loved Stella dearly — she was entertaining to no end, and definitely provoked a playful teenager in Franky that she had missed out on in her actual adolescent years. And Franky was learning a lot about her own mannerisms, which Stella mirrored in an uncanny manner. But she regretted, now, that in focusing on Stella she had missed Erica. What Erica needed from her. She sighed.  
  
“Are you right, Baby?”  
  
“Just do it, Franky. Please.”  
  
Franky gritted her teeth, wincing to herself. She was going to have to ask what “it” was. This was a first. She straightened her back, shifting into dominatrix mode. “And what is that you think I’m going to do for you tonight? I’m not sure you deserve any attention at all, Miss Davidson.”  
  
Erica stepped into role immediately. “Please, mistress. The whip. The big one. Please.”  
  
Franky’s eyes arched high into her brown. Something _had_ happened. She wanted to ask, but knew that would have to wait. She stripped, secured Erica’s hands and feet to the four corners of the bed, went to the drawer and procured the whip. As she snapped it near Erica’s head for effect. Erica flinched. _Oh man. She’s really wound up._ And then Franky went to work.  
  
She stood atop the bed, her feet pressed against the inside of Erica’s thighs, pressing them apart a little further. Erica breathed in sharply. Franky let the limp whip trail down Erica’s back from her neck to her buttocks, then down one leg. Back up the other leg, to her neck. Then Franky stepped off the bed, standing several feet away to account for the length of the whip and quickly snapped it, leaving a small red welt on the left arsecheek. Erica was silent. Franky made an identical mark on the other side. Erica still didn’t make a sound.  
  
Franky moved to the bottom of the bed and stood on the platform edge, waiting. On cue, Erica shivered in anticipation and Franky started with a slow criss cross motion of her arm, across left, across right, not marking but stinging the skin of Erica’s back. This went on for at least a quarter of an hour. Erica hadn’t made a sound, but she was panting.  
  
Franky was frustrated with herself. She needed to talk to Erica, to hear what had happened. If one of those kids did something to her lover, Franky was going to beat the shit out of them. Did one of them put their hands on Erica? Had she let them? They should have discussed this over dinner so that Franky could administer the proper discipline. Her next stripe across Erica’s back left a mark. Erica gasped. A second mark, then a third. Franky was getting aroused herself. A fourth, eighth mark. Erica finally whimpered and arched her back, then flexed her hips. Three more marks and Franky finished her design on Erica’s flesh. Erica continued to whimper with each panted breath.  
  
Franky released Erica’s wrist cuffs, then positioned herself behind the prone woman.  
  
“On your knees.”  
  
Erica swiftly raised herself onto all fours, automatically pushing back, seeking the strap-on Franky had ready for her. Their thrusts were slow but deep, hard. Franky finally pushed Erica’s shoulders down, careful not to put her hands on the raw welts, and fucked Erica in earnest, fast and hard. They climaxed together.  
  
Franky unbuckled Erica’s ankle restraints and removed her own accessory, then lay down on her side, facing Erica. She kissed her gently on the lips, then pulled back, leaving one finger to trace a slow pattern along Erica’s jaw.  
  
“Tell me what happened,” she said, softly.


	3. Nowhere to Breathe Easy

The next day, Franky was at work at her desk when her mobile rang. She smiled when she saw who the caller was.  
  
“DeMedici…”  
  
“Doyle.”  
  
Michael deMedici was Franky’s former boss. And former lover. And a member of one of the most high profile — and dangerous — families in the state. DeMedici Law was in it’s third generation and was well known for defending major organized crime figures. Michael had been a primary partner until she left the firm over six months ago; when Franky had been kidnapped by one of Michael’s own father’s associates. She was now in graduate school, finishing a secondary degree in criminal psychology.  
  
“What’s shakin, Michael?”  
  
“I’m bored. I’ve been looking into qualifications for a position with the Federal Police. What do you reckon?”  
  
Franky laughed out loud. “Sounds like a smashing idea.” That would put Michael onto a direct path to have to investigate her own family’s clients; possibly even deMedici Law itself. “If you’re anxious for a trip to the bottom of the bay with a set of cement trainers.”  
  
Michael chuckled. “Something to think about. Actually…” she hesitated, “I am getting a bit frisky. Thinking about working again.”  
  
“I’m sure anyone would die to have you on staff, Michael. What do you want to do?”  
  
“I want to be invited for dinner — it’s been weeks. And I was thinking about coming to work with you.”  
  
Franky’s eyes widened. Erica would _hate_ that. “This place would kill to have you,” she said, which was true. “Don’t know if we could afford you.”  
  
“I don’t need salary, Doyle. I can donate that back to the agency.”  
  
Erica wasn’t going to be able to argue with that. She would still hate it. “Do you want me to set up something with Stacy?” Stacy Arrington was the director of FemLaw, the agency for which Franky worked.  
  
“How would you feel about it? I’m sure your partner will love it,” Michael said, sarcastically.  
  
Franky thought about it. She would really enjoy working with Michael again. Maybe it was time to introduce Michael to Stella. Although, that wouldn’t go over any better with Erica. Franky sighed. “It would be fantastic working with you again, Michael,” Franky said softly. “But you’re right. Erica’s going to be tossed.”  
  
“You don’t have to be nice, Doyle. You do need to be honest.”  
  
“Would I lie to you, deMedici?”  
  
After a brief silence, Michael said, “Actually, no. Not unless you wanted something. I kind of miss the ass-kissing days when I was signing your paycheck, Doyle. You were nice to me all the time then. And a terrible liar.”  
  
Franky could hear the smile behind the remark. “Yeah. It was all about the paycheck, deMedici. And I’m still a bad liar.” Franky sighed again. This was going to be a frightful conversation with Erica. But maybe lots of intense make-up sex. Speaking of… “If you come on staff here, Stacy will probably have sex with you. Hell, the entire staff will have sex with you. Any time.”  
  
“I’d only be interested in you, Doyle. But is she hot?”  
  
The woman was relentless. She still didn’t like taking “no” for an answer, when Franky ended their affair. She was constantly flirting, still. Franky was desperately in love with Erica but not immune to the charms of other women. Michael got to her sometimes. She didn’t act on it, but she was tempted. She really needed to find Michael a date. “Hey, are you free for dinner next week? There’s someone I want you to meet.”  
  
“I don’t need to meet anyone.”  
  
_Yes, you do!_ Franky knew this would be an uphill battle. Michael had basically isolated herself from the fast crowd she used to run with as a deMedici Law partner. After the fiasco that almost got Franky killed, Michael had removed herself from her family and her social circle. She’d moved out of the family penthouse and into a loft on the South Wharf, and had one or two mates at University. But her social life had practically ground to a halt. And she didn’t seem to be interested in recreating one. Just teasing Franky and annoying Erica.  
  
“Remember Stella Dagostino? Tactical Response Team?”  
  
Michael knew exactly who Stella was. She knew all about Stella and Franky, way before they knew about each other. She’d got this information when she had background done on Doyle before she hired her. When it was clear that neither woman knew about the other, Michael stayed out of it.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Well, we’e related. Like as in identical twins related.”  
  
“Fuckall, Doyle.” Michael feigned shock.  
  
“So come for dinner next week. Meet my sister.”  
  
“Hmmm. I can't imagine that going over well, either.”  
  
Franky had to agree, but Erica was going to have to live with it. “I’ll make it up to her. Besides. Stella might not like you at all.”  
  
Michael burst out laughing. She knew she was extraordinarily good looking, and unlikely to be turned down by anyone she propositioned. She had used her looks to her advantage innumerable times. She doubted she would have a problem seducing Stella Dagostino. Stella had eyed her each of the last few times they’d crossed paths. And Michael had noticed. Stella was beautiful, and extremely attractive in a different way than Franky. But at the time, Michael was unwilling to complicate Franky’s life by fucking the twin sister she didn’t know she had. That would have been hard to explain. But Michael had been tempted to revisit the Stella Dagostino issue when Franky declared herself off limits, then married Erica. This could be interesting.  
  
Franky smiled at the phone. Michael was arrogant as fuck. But Stella was like an adolescent boy. She would drool all over Michael. This was going to be the easiest hook up of all time.  
  
“Why don’t we let Stella decide for herself, Doyle,” Michael chuckled. “I bet she’s hotter than you.”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“I’ll let you know.”  
  
****************************************  
  
“Fucking hell, Franky,” Stella said.  
  
“Wait. Why is Tactical Response onto a vandalism call?” Franky asked, irritated. It was a little after 6:00pm and Franky was on the street standing next to where she’d parked her car this morning, near the FemLaw office. Her car had been keyed and all four tires slashed.  
  
“Oi, Franky,” Lawson Blake, the head of the Tactical Response Team, said, grinning at her. “How’s Erica?”  
  
“She’s right. Thanks for asking, Lawson,” Franky replied, smiling back. She turned again to Stella who was talking into her mic.  
  
“Stel! Why are you here?”  
  
“We… I had you flagged in the system. As my family. Any calls that come in from or about you or Erica get routed directly to me, to TRT,” Stella said. “It’s not unusual.”  
  
“This is a waste of TRT resource. It’s probably just some kids.”  
  
Shannon approached. She was the third member of this squad and had pulled Franky out of some rubble nearly a year ago, saving her life. She’d also shot a perpetrator who held a knife to Erica’s neck several months later. “Um. Franky? You’re a trouble magnet.”  
  
Franky smiled. She liked to flirt with Shannon, even though it didn’t seem to phase her. “I guess you’re trouble, then, aye?”  
  
Stella whipped out an iPad and they all gathered round. Leon, the Intelligence Officer back at headquarters, had found CCTV footage of a small, hooded figure circling Franky’s vehicle earlier in the day, clearly causing all the damage.  
  
“See,” Franky said. “A kid.”  
  
“Any idea if it’s personal?” Asked Lawson. “Who would be after you now?”  
  
“I’ll call for a tow,” said Shannon, winking at Franky and peeling off from the group to use her mobile.  
  
“What about the kids at the place Erica volunteers?” asked Stella. “You were there not too long ago, right?”  
  
Franky frowned. _Fucking Christina. I’m going to bitch slap her into next week._ “Maybe,” Franky replied. “I’ll go over with Erica and talk to them.”  
  
“Nope,” Stella said. Lawson peeled off next, asking Leon to run a check on the halfway house and everyone who lived there. “That’s what I’m here for. We’ll go by, put the fear of god in ‘em. You stay out of it.”  
  
“I can take care of myself, Stel,” Franky grumbled. “They’re kids. Besides. It may not be them, any of them. For all we know, it was just a random punk.”  
  
“I know you can take care of yourself. But I’m here to take care of you too, now. And it’s not just my job. You’re my family, Franky,” Stella said, softly. “Just let me have your back, aye?”  
  
One of Franky’s eyebrows went up. “Fine,” she said, pretending to be irritated; but she was actually happy, very happy, to have Stella at her back. She mussed her sister's hair. Stella slapped her hand away and grinned at her.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Christina sat in the backyard of the halfway house under a tree, pouting intensely. When the police had come to the house and everyone understood that Franky was not both a barrister ex-con and a cop, but that she had a twin sister who was equally hot, and a special operations officer to boot, another major swoon session ensued. Christina wanted to throw up. _Buggar both of them, Franky and Senior Constable Dagostino_ , she thought. She was going to have to be extra careful, now, if she wanted to get Erica away from Franky.  
  
******************************************  
  
“I’m not going to date her, Franks.”  
  
“See!” Erica piped in. “I told you this was a bad idea!”  
  
Franky sighed and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say I thought you should date her, Stel. I just want you to get to know each other. She’s my best mate.” Even though that’s exactly what Franky hoped. Both Stella and Michael needed at date. Stella was over constantly, putting a bit of a crimp in Franky and Erica's play time.  
  
“First,” said Stella, “I don’t want your sloppy seconds. Unless it’s Erica,” she winked at her sister-in-law. “Second, she’s a gazillionaire. Way out of my league. What would we possibly have in common?”  
  
“Oi, Stel. Just sit through dinner, aye?” Franky pleaded, exasperated.  
  
No one but Franky seemed remotely interested in getting Stella and Michael into the same room. Michael was fairly antisocial in general. Erica seethed at the idea of Michael and Stella together. It was as if Stella was a proxy for Franky. She thought it disrespectful to both Stella and herself; and was quite clear Michael would take any opportunity to seduce Stella, whether she actually cared about her or not. Erica didn’t want to see Stella hurt.  
  
Stella mimicked Franky’s irritated expression. Erica tried not to laugh. The twins were funny together, especially as Stella had taken to mocking Franky’s seriousness. It drove Franky nuts, but she had a hard time being angry at Stella. And Erica really loved the softness that Stella inspired in Franky. She seemed to smooth out some of Franky’s sharp edges, helped her not to take herself so seriously.  
  
“Oi, Franks. Maybe we should wear the same outfit, see if she can tell us apart?”  
  
Franky’s expression went from annoyed to intrigued.”That would actually be funny.” Franky had grown her hair out, and with the tattoos covered, it was really hard to tell the two apart. Except for the still healing scar across Franky’s left temple. The intercom buzzed.  
  
“You’ve got a number of white button downs, Franky,” Erica said, joining the prank quickly. “Go put one on and get one for Stel. I’ll buzz her up.”  
  
Several minutes later, Franky and Stella emerged from the back of the flat. Michael and Erica were sitting on the lounge drinking wine, chatting amiably. Erica had really grown to appreciate and almost, but not quite, like Michael deMedici. If she would stop openly flirting with Erica’s spouse, she might be able to fully embrace the dangerous, but loyal, friendship.  
  
Erica and Michael stood up.  
  
“Michael, this is Stella Dagostino,” Erica said, indicating both women.  
  
Michael took them in together, then one, then the other. She approached them slowly, scrutinizing every feature of their faces. She stared at Franky, looking deep into her eyes. Then Stella, doing the same. Franky couldn’t hold back a grin. Stella mimicked it. No one moved. Michael put one hand on each side of Stella’s face and kissed her. Deeply. Stella was a bit startled at first, but then kissed her back.  
  
Michael pulled back after several long seconds. “Nice to meet you, Stella D.,” she said, clearing her throat.  
  
“Aww, damn, deMedici!” Franky said. “How could you tell?”  
  
Michael turned, slipping an arm around Stella’s shoulders. “Because Erica hasn’t gutted me yet,” she said in a low voice, smiling at Erica.

Stella burst out laughing. "Erica wouldn't hurt a fly!"  
  
Erica immediately recalled threatening to shoot Michael once, and knew this was what Michael hinted at now. She ignored the jab, and tried to decide if she was pleased or annoyed that Michael had so easily been able to tell them apart. She resisted going down the rabbit hole. “Seriously, Michael,how did you know? I can barely tell the difference at times.”  
  
_Because I was in love with Franky. I know how she smells. I know how she tastes. And I won’t ever forget that._ “Franky still has that mark over her temple. But once that’s gone, you’re going to have to label them,” she responded. She actually did want to put Erica at ease, eventually. That was the only way Michael was going to be able to be part of Franky’s life. And despite losing her to Erica, Michael still relied on having a relationship with Franky Doyle to keep herself sane, feel like she may be having a somewhat normal life. Franky was her best mate. The only true mate she’d ever had. She wanted to be part of this family, especially since she continued to stay alienated from her own.  
  
Stella moved away from Michael’s touch, toward the liquor trolley. She poured herself and Erica a shot of vodka -- she'd seen the hard set to Erica's jaw after Michael had kissed her, and knew exactly what that was about. She downed both shots and then poured another one for Erica, handing it to her. Stella was on edge. She hadn’t wanted to be attracted to Michael deMedici, but that kiss had curled her toes.  
  
“Well, I get to be Thing One, Franks. You get to be Thing Two,” Stella said, having a third shot. She was referring to the Cat and the Hat characters.  
  
Franky chuckled. Stella was constantly referencing cartoons. “No way. I was born first. I’m Thing One.” She went into the kitchen to check on dinner. Stella followed her. She was sous chef this evening. Erica and Michael settled in at the bar, sipping wine, across from where Franky and Stella were putting the final touches on the meal.  
  
“So how did you figure this out?” Michael asked. “That you two are identical twins. Aside from the obvious. I’ve seen Stella a number of times. And I clearly know Franky well.” Erica rolled her eyes. “I never put two and two together.”  
  
Franky paused in garnishing the steaks. Michael not notice? Franky highly doubted that, now that her former boss said it. She mentally filed the thought away for later inspection. Stella started telling the story and they all sat for dinner.  
  
After dinner, Michael and Erica cleared the table while Franky and Stella sat on the lanai with small glasses of port.  
  
“Michael,” Erica started. “Two things I need to talk to you about.” Erica had decided to try to be nice, but also to just handle business with Michael deMedici. She clearly wasn’t going anywhere.  
  
“What is it?” Michael responded, continuing to load the dishwasher.  
  
Erica found herself amused watching Michael try to do this mundane task. She was exceedingly awkward at it. Erica wondered if Michael had ever loaded a dishwasher before, and decided to take over before she had to do it all again anyway.  
  
“You rinse, hand me the dishes,” she said. “First thing is that Franky’s car was vandalized last week.”  
  
Michael looked at her. “Do you know who did it?”  
  
“No. But Franky and I are now in the police database as family to Stella, so Stel actually responded to the vandalism call when Franky reported it. The police are onto it, as much as they would be a low level car prowl.”  
  
“Why are you telling me?”  
  
“Because you care. And because Franky attracts trouble.”  
  
“Okay,” Michael said. “What else?”  
  
Erica appreciated that Michael seemed easy about her business-like approach to their interaction. “Don’t hurt Stella.”  
  
Michael froze in handing Erica dishes. Only briefly, then resumed. “That's getting ahead of things, isn't it?" She asked, one eyebrow raised.  
  
"Just don't. Stel isn't like Franky. She's sweet."  
  
The other eyebrow went up.  
  
"You know what I mean," Erica said, deadly serious. "Do not mess her about."  
  
_You don't get to tell me what to do_ , Michael thought. "Point taken," she said equally seriously, fully intending to do whatever the hell she wanted to do with Stella Dagastino. Which was likely nothing. Stella did seem sweet, if a bit silly. Michael wasn't interested in sweet or silly.  
  
They continued to clean the kitchen in measured silence until they were tossing the wet kitchen towels into the laundry. Then they joined Franky and Stella on the lanai. Erica sat across Franky’s lap and sipped from her port. Stella raised her eyebrow at Michael, indicating her own lap with a pointed glance.  
  
Michael chuckled. “Tempting, Stella D. But I really need to go. I'm going to Christchurch tomorrow afternoon and I have a paper I'd like to finish before the flight. I need my beauty sleep.”  
  
Stella downed the rest of her drink. “I should go too. Early start for me as well.”  
  
“Do you need a ride? My car is downstairs,” Michael offered.  
  
“Nah. Got my bike.  
  
Erica and Franky watched this exchange with interest. Michael was being genuinely friendly.  
  
“What kind of bike?”  
  
“Moto Guzzi.”  
  
Michael stilled. “Seriously?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I love that machine. Which one do you have? Maybe you can give me a ride home? Even better, maybe you can let me drive?”  
  
Franky glanced at Erica, perplexed. Then intervened in the conversation. “Um, deMedici. You don’t drive. Stel, do not let her drive your bike.”  
  
“Piss off, Doyle. I don’t drive the cars. I have three Moto Guzzi’s in Italy. It’s the only thing I actually do drive.”  
  
Stella tried to not be entirely obviously excited by Michael deMedici’s interest. “It’s a Griso. Got it last year.”  
  
Michael’s smile was blinding. “Oh yeah. Loooooove that one.”  
  
“Well, by all means, deMedici. Let me take you home.”  
  
**********************************  
  
After taking the long way back to Michael’s loft, they had finally arrived in the car park somewhat breathless. Michael was a very good, but high speed, driver. They were both exhilarated. They peeled off their helmets simultaneously, eyes shining.  
  
“Nothing like a Griso crotch rocket,” Michael said grinning broadly.  
  
“Yeah,” Stella agreed. “Why don’t you have one here?”  
  
“Dunno,” Michael said. “It just seems like part of my life in Italy. Not in Melbourne.”  
  
“If you did, we could ride together sometimes, maybe,” Stella said.  
  
Michael nodded. “Can I kiss you, Stella D.?”  
  
“No,” Stella smiled. “And why do you call me that?”  
  
Michael moved closer, reaching one hand out toward Stella’s hip. Stella backed out of reach. “I don’t know. Does it bother you?” Michael continued to advance.  
  
“I don’t know yet.” Stella continued to back up until she was flat against the Porsche.  
  
“Why can’t I kiss you?” She was now very close, her face inches away from Stella’s. Michael was very aroused by the ride, and attracted to Stella, independent of any remaining romantic feelings for Franky. Stella was a girl who rode a bike. And not just any bike. Michael had a thing for women and motorcycles. Together.  
  
“Because,” Stella said. “Franky told me about you and her. I don’t want to be the second choice stand in for my sister’s ex.”  
  
Michael leaned in closer, licked her lips, exhaled. She pressed her lips against the back of Stella’s jaw, near her ear. “Frank Doyle doesn’t ride a Moto Guzzi.” She moved back to Stella’s lips, and pressed the lightest of kisses there. When Stella didn’t pull away, Michael circled her arms around Stella’s waist, and kissed her again, more firmly.  
  
Stella wanted to resist this. She knew it was a bad idea. That she was going to get her feelings hurt, if not her heart outright broken. But she found her arms around Michael’s neck, hands in her hair, leaning into the kiss. Deepening it. She finally pushed Michael away. They were both breathless. Again.  
  
“Come up,” Michael said, interlacing their fingers.  
  
“No,” Stella said, disentangling. She reached for her helmet and mounted the bike.  
  
“You’re kidding…” Michael stared at her in disbelief.  
  
Stella put her helmet on, started the bike, and left.  
  
**************************  
  
When Franky went down the next morning to get in her car, it was covered in graffiti.


	4. No Time to be Young

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” Erica was saying as she dropped Franky off at her office. “I can’t believe she would do something like this, but at least then we can eliminate her from suspicion.”  
  
“Oi, Erica. Tell her I’m going to beat her ass if she comes near my car again!” Franky grumbled, leaning in for a kiss.  
  
Erica smiled against Franky’s mouth, then pushed her hand into Franky’s hair, pulling her in for a deeper kiss across the middle of the Mercedes console. “Mmmm. Have a good day. And stop thinking about thrashing a 15 year old. I guarantee you it’s not her, Franky.”  
  
Franky got out of the car and leaned into the window. “Well, who else could it be?”  
  
Erica’s brow creased. “That’s what has me worried.”  
  
Franky entered the FemLaw office. It was almost noon. She had called to let Stacy know she would be late, but as soon as she got past reception, Stacy came striding out of her office and met Franky in the common area.  
  
“Everything right, Franky? I was getting worried.”  
  
Stacy Arrington was a strikingly pale woman, red-haired and freckled. Her skin seemed almost translucent, spidery blue veins visible across her temples and in her arms and legs, when she wore revealing clothing. Which wasn’t often. She seemed quite self-conscious about it. She wasn’t exactly pretty. Just plain. And she was fidgety. But a fierce researcher and defender of women and families in court. She could be downright ferocious.  
  
“Yeah, Stace. Car problems, remember?”  
  
“Sure, sure, Franky.” She followed Franky into her office. “Erm. Is there anything I can do? Do you need transport home tonight?”  
  
“No,” Franky said, looking through the messages on her desk. “Erica will come round when I call.” She sat down in her chair and gave Stacey undivided attention. It was the only way to get rid of her.  
  
“I’ve got Michael deMedici coming in for interview at 3:00. Did you want to sit in?”  
  
_That’s odd. I’m a staff attorney. Why would I sit in on an interview, even if I know the interviewee?_ “Well, Stace. I can if you’d like. I’ve never been on the power side of an interview. Not sure what kind of help I could be.”  
  
“Right. Right.” Stacy said. “Well, is there anything I should know about her? I mean, it would be incredible to have her here. No one gets someone of her caliber for free. Plus, our visibility is going to skyrocket.”  
  
“Well you might start by asking her exactly what role she intends to play here, if you don’t already have something specific in mind. And see how comfortable she is being a ‘face’ for FemLaw. She may not want to be visible in that way here.”  
  
“Good point. Good point.” Stacy responded, and rushed back into her own office, slamming the door behind her.  
  
Seconds later, Franky looked up to see Stacy re-entering her office.  
  
“I’m going to eat. Are you peckish? You want to come? You should eat.” Stacy said, nervously.  
  
Franky’s eyes widened. Stacy Arrington was a strange chick. She seemed to be a confident, accomplished woman everywhere else, but in one-on-one private space with Franky, she turned into a bumbling, stuttering, odd duck. Franky wanted to chuckle, but frowned slightly instead so as not to make her boss uncomfortable. “Probably should catch up on what I missed this morning. Thanks, though, Stace.”  
  
“Next time. Next time.” And she was gone.  
  
Franky rolled her eyes, smiled to herself, and focused back on her work. Barely ten minutes later, her phone rang. It was the receptionist.  
  
“Franky, there are two young women here to see you.”  
  
“Ahh... Oi, Rosie, who are they? I don’t have any external meetings on my calendar today.”  
  
“One is called Gia and the other is Sam. They say you did a lecture for them last week.”  
  
Franky remembered them very well. They had been particularly fawning, touchy. She blew out a sigh of frustration.  
  
“Do you want me to send them in?”  
  
“No!” The last thing Franky needed was to be in a closed office with frisky underage girls. She knows what she would have done at their age. “I’ll come out.”  
  
*******************************  
  
X stood outside the Melbourne Magistrate’s Court where Erica Davidson worked. She’d managed to get there several times a week, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening, to watch Erica arrive or leave from work. It was late afternoon. Erica exited the front of the building and X stood back in a nearby shop doorway, pulling up her hoodie to hide her face. _She’s so beautiful. That wanker barrister doesn’t deserve her,_ she thought. _How can I show her how much I care? That we’re right together?_ She thought about approaching Erica, offering to buy her some chips. Sit and chat, like grown ups. But that was probably stupid. She watched Erica go into an American sundries shop, and strolled over to the window where she could see into the store, see what Erica was doing there.  
  
She couldn’t see what Erica was purchasing, but could see the area from which she spent the most time choosing items. She dropped back into another doorway as Erica exited the shop, and then went in herself.  
  
Erica had been shopping American junk food. _What?_ X couldn’t imagine Miss Davidson eating junk food. She was always harping on their dinner items, bringing in fresh fruit and wholesome snacks on her volunteer nights. X determined to bring it up tomorrow, when Erica was at the house.  
  
She went out to the Flagstaff metro station to make her way back home, then changed her mind, crossed the platform, and boarded the southbound train. Toward St. Kilda.  
  
*********************************  
  
Franky arrived home at nearly 9pm, having stayed longer to finish her work after getting there so late in the day. And going for drinks with Michael after her interview with Stace. Erica was lying on the lounge reading. She sat up on her knees as Franky entered, smiling.  
  
“Hey, beautiful.”  
  
“Oi, gorgeous.” Franky approached the back of the lounge, kissed Erica, then climbed over, pushing her spouse down on her back and stretching herself out on top. “I missed you today.”  
  
Erica kissed her. It was a long, heartfelt exploration. “I got you something.”  
  
Franky’s eyebrow went up. Erica looked over at the table next to the lounge. There were several magazines scattered across it. And a small, brightly colored red and yellow package. Franky’s other eyebrow went up. She grabbed the bag of Cheetos and tore it open, feeding one to Erica first, and then putting three into her own mouth.  
  
“I am so keeping you, Miss Davidson.” She said, crunching furiously. “God I love you.” Cheetos were Franky’s favorite snack, but hard to come by in Melbourne. Erica seemed to have found a steady supply somewhere, as she was bringing home these little treats about once a month. She kissed Erica again, reveling in the fake cheesiness of it.  
  
Erica laughed against her mouth. “They’re disgustingly tasty. I am very sorry you introduced me to them.”  
  
Franky sat up and dug into the bag of snacks, sharing them with Erica. “I need to tell you something,” she said quietly.  
  
Uh oh. “Do I need a glass of wine for this?”  
  
“Probably a healthy shot of bourbon,” Franky replied. “I’ll get it.” She stood up and went to the liquor trolley, pouring a couple of fingers of amber liquid into a highball glass. She handed it to Erica and sat back down. She decided just to come with it. “Michael was hired at FemLaw today. Twelve hours a week.”  
  
Erica stared at her. She put the glass down on the coffee table. Started to say something, then stopped. Scrunched up her face, picked up the glass and took a healthy swallow. Then she leaned against the back of the lounge, staring up at the ceiling. She took another drink.  
  
“I didn’t say anything sooner because at first I wasn’t sure that Michael was serious about working there. Then it was completely unclear that Stace would take her, find something for her to do. But she interviewed today. Apparently it went swimmingly. Stace is smitten.”  
  
“Who isn’t?” Erica asked, dryly.  
  
“It’s not even half time, Erica,” Franky replied, apologetically. “Wait a minute. Where’s Stel?”  
  
“Suspiciously quiet and absent since you let her take deMedici home last week. Have you even talked to her? And don’t think I didn’t notice the change of subject.”  
  
Franky leaned over and kissed her neck, then took a sip from Erica’s drink. She coughed, and exhaled harshly. “Damn. That is some nasty shit, Erica. There’s not much to say about deMedici, aye? It just is what it is.” She snuggled herself against Erica’s side. “I wonder what happened with Stel and Michael.”  
  
“You get one guess.”  
  
“They are both grown women.” Franky kissed Erica’s neck again. “Finish that drink,” she said. Erica did. Franky put the glass on the table, then pushed Erica flat back on the lounge, stretching herself out on top of her lover again. “That means we can do whatever we want tonight.” She kissed her decadently. “Again.”  
  
Erica’s hands found their way to Franky’s bum. “Did you look over the list of fertility clinics, Franky? I'm not getting any younger. My biological clock is ticking... ticking... ticking...” she said playfully. Then she squeezed, kissing back, losing herself in the sensations. Erica was truly pleased at how close Franky and Stella had become quickly, how comfortable Stella was with them; and how often she stopped by. They had even contemplated giving her a key to the flat, since Stel was staying over several nights a week. The flip side of Franky gaining a close relative was the cramping of their play time. It was impossible to be quiet during role play, for either of them. So they stuck with straight sex when Stel stayed over, which had increased to several times a week. Erica’s volunteer schedule also took a toll — they weren’t making love every night as they’d used to. They had both become a little frustrated.  
  
Except the last four nights, when Stel had not called or stopped by. Franky had to admit she had noticed, but was so grateful for the play time with Erica again, she hadn’t called Stella to see what was happening for her.  
  
Franky pulled back. Erica groaned. “Shouldn’t we try to get pregnant,” Franky waggled her eyebrows lasciviously, “then see the specialist when we can’t? And I should call her, shouldn’t I.”  
  
“Yes,” Erica answered, about Stella. “And I’m serious. We need to start looking for a donor, then. Are you taking this to heart, Franky? I’m talking about a baby. It’s time for us to start a family. But let’s talk about it more after.”  
  
Franky pulled Erica upright on the lounge. She wasn’t complaining. And she was actually ready to start his baby-making process. The addition of Stella to their already full world, and whatever weird person was ostensibly stalking her, was making Franky want to plant roots. Have more of her own people around her. Being around Erica’s girls at the home was inspiring. Erica was great with them, and would make a fantastic mum. Franky wanted to give her that, to see that, more than anything.  
  
“After what?” she grinned wickedly. Erica was still so bashful about talking about sex. Franky found the embarrassed blush adorably irresistible.  
  
Right on cue, the red flush worked it’s way up Erica’s neck toward her hairline. “Franky!” She said exasperated. At least they weren't out to dinner. She decided to practice taking this bull by the horns. She straddled Franky’s lap, pressing her full body against her spouse, her crotch against Franky’s groin. She leaned forward and put her lips against her lover's ear, nibbling there, running her tongue along the grooves. “Whipping me,” she whispered. “Spanking me. Fucking me in the arse, Franky Davidson Doyle.” Then she kissed her, hungrily.  
  
When Erica pulled back, they were both panting. Erica moved to get from Franky’s lap but Franky held her down. “Where do you think you’re going?” She kissed her neck, slipping her hands underneath Erica’s top and caressing the heated skin there.  
  
Erica pushed against Franky’s chest and stood up. “Call Stella. Hurry it,” she said backing away, then turning as she pulled her cashmere sweater over her head, dropping it on the ground behind her. Her skirt was next, unzipped and stepped out of as Erica made her way to the master bedroom.  
  
Franky was transfixed. Erica’s body was so fucking perfect. She stood up to follow just as Erica made the bedroom doorway. She turned there, one hand out commanding Franky to stop. Franky did.  
  
“Call your sister.” She unhooked her bra and dropped that to the floor too, giving Franky an eyeful. then she turned and went inside, out of Franky’s eyesight, wearing only french bikini knickers.  
  
Franky licked her lips and reached for her mobile. _Wait, who am I calling?_ Sometimes Erica’s teasing simply short-circuited Franky’s brain completely. This was one of those times. The anticipation of tasting Erica, her body trembling under Franky’s expert care, was completely mesmerizing. _Fuck it._ She started toward the bedroom stopping when the mobile vibrated in her hand. The caller ID said Stella Dagostino. _Riiiiiight._ Franky mentally smacked herself on the back of the head.  
  
"Oi. Stel. How you going? Where ya been?"  
  
"Not stuffing your sexy time with Erica. Aye, Franks?"  
  
Franky laughed. "Yeah." She was quiet for a few seconds, realizing she actually missed Stella's goofy forthrightness. "Seriously, Stel. Are you right? Last time I saw you you were with deMedici. Then several days of radio silence."  
  
"Ahhhh. TRT has been brutal. You saw news about the kid who hijacked a plane? That was us."  
  
"Buggar that guy, Stel."  
  
"Three days straight with that little arsewipe..."  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
"Oi! And you can fuck with Shan about this: the day she's promoted to Senior Constable is the day we get on this kid. She's in charge of the team. First thing she does is let the kid take her vehicle..."  
  
"Piss off, Stel. No way that happened." Franky couldn’t quite get the visual of Shannon’s face when she realized an adolescent boy had bested her. She laughed loudly. “No way!” She couldn’t wait to tease Shannon about this.  
  
"Fully loaded, armed tactical response vehicle. Ask her. But that isn't why I called. You have a minute?"  
  
Franky realized Stella had again distracted her from Erica, who was waiting. In bed. Butt naked.  "Ahhh. Make it quick. I’ll call you tomorrow. Swear it.” She wandered into the bedroom so as not to be distracted again. Erica was completely covered. Tapping her fingers impatiently on the doona. _Damn!_ “Stel! Whatcha got?”  
  
“DeMedici…”  
  
“You fuck her?” She grinned as Erica rolled her eyes.  
  
“No, Franks. We only kissed once, but it’s keeping me up at night. I don’t like it.”  
  
“What do you mean you only kissed once. You told her no? I know she asked you up after the bike ride, yeah?” Erica was now beckoning her with one, wicked, tantalizing finger.  
  
“I said no.”  
  
“Good on ya, Stel!” Erica contributed from the background.  
  
Franky frowned and turned her back to Erica. _Oooooh. DeMedici's tossed._ “She’s got no experience taking no for an answer, Stel. Think about it. You have to talk her through it. She’s really a good person and fun to be with. Sometimes…”  
  
“HAH!” Erica called, again loud enough for her sister-in-law to hear.  
  
“But she’s got the emotional maturity of a ten year old.” She heard Stella sigh heavily. “I’ll email you her class schedule. You need to go get her, take her for a ride. Be honest about what you want, but you have to tell her truth. Don’t bullshit her. That’s if you ever want to see her again. And you want to see her again. She’s definitely someone you want on your side.”  
  
“Seriously? Can’t I just be her ex vicariously through you? She likes you well enough.” Stella whined. Was she really going to have to kiss the bazillionairesses ass? She didn’t have experience with this, trying so hard to be liked by someone. She was generally liked by most people, and the others, Stella didn’t waste her time trying to impress. It had worked for her so far.  
  
“What’s the matter with you? She’s stinkin’ rich and completely easy on the eyes. Give her a rut or two! Gotta go.” Franky rang off and pounced on Erica in the bed. They didn’t even get to the toys.  
  
Stella looked at her mobile. She did want things to go to sexy times with deMedici. Badly. That was the problem. There was no way that fantastically wealthy, drop-dead, gorgeous, moto guzzi-riding woman would want anything but a quick toss from Stella Dagostino. No way. And Stella was already clear she wanted more.  
  
***********************************  
  
On the beach, below Erica and Franky’s St. Kilda flat, a hoodied figure stood looking up at the lights on the tenth floor. She had identified which unit belonged to Erica and Franky, and knew which windows were connected to the master suite. It had a balcony on the north side of the building; with an adjoining lanai that fed from either the lounge or the dining area. It was hard to tell without actually being inside the unit.  
  
She watched for a long time. The light stayed on. Ten pm turned to 11:00, then midnight. She imagined Erica reading, Franky falling to sleep. Erica lonely. Franky frustrated. They really didn’t belong together. The light went out at nearly one am. She began walking up the beach back toward downtown Melbourne.  
  
************************************  
  
  
Franky opened the FemLaw office, letting Erica enter first. It was earlier than Franky usually arrived and she was the first one in. The lights automatically came on with their movement.  
  
“She said it wasn’t her. I believe her,” Erica was finishing their conversation about the graffiti on Franky’s car. The new paint job had been completed weeks before, but in the interim they had found they enjoyed sharing the ride to work in the morning. The FemLaw office was sort of on the way to downtown from their flat; they just had to leave a bit earlier. And it was on the train line, so easy for Franky to commute home independently if Erica wasn’t able to pick her up.  
  
“Well I don’t, for the record, “ Franky said, watching Erica’s hips move slightly from side to side as she walked. “Have a cuppa?” She asked, as she pulled Erica’s coat from her shoulders.  
  
Erica resisted, but not too much. “Franky, we don’t really have time for this. I’m just dropping you. I need to get downtown…” She turned, brow scrunched. “We can finish this later.”  
  
Franky hung Erica’s coat on the coat rack in the reception area, next to her own. This was true. But she did want to broach another subject with Erica this morning. Franky walked across the office to the small kitchenette and pushed a coffee pod into the Keurig coffee and espresso machine. Erica had followed her and pulled two mugs from the dish rack, handing one to Franky, and then the other, as Franky prepared their coffee. They walked back to Franky’s office to talk.  
  
Franky walked behind Erica again, this time watching her arse move underneath a mauve, suede pencil skirt, complimented by a matching pair of knee high suede boots and a pale pink merino wool sweater that gave just the appropriate view of cleavage, which wasn't much. But that was okay. Franky was well acquainted with that cleavage. Erica always looked hot. But this outfit was new. And Franky wasn’t finished looking at Erica in it.  
  
Erica stood leaning against Franky’s desk, sipping her cafe au lait, signaling that she wasn’t getting comfortable. She would drink the coffee and be on her way. Franky approached her and put her coffee down on the desk next to Erica’s hip, slipping her arms around Erica’s waist, her hands under the sweater and onto the bare skin of Erica’s back. She felt the smile against her ear. Erica put her own cup down and pushed both hands up around Franky’s neck, into her hair.  
  
“What are you doing?” She asked, knowing full well what Franky was doing, and trying to figure out how to not do it, even as she leaned into the kiss. As she felt her energy shifting, her pulse increasing, she moved her hands down flat against Franky’s chest, trying to create some space between them. “Franky?”  
  
Franky slid one hand up Erica’s back, outside of the sweater now, and grabbed a firm hold of Erica’s hair. Erica’s breath caught. Franky kissed her again, defying Erica’s signal to ratchet things back. Instead, Franky turned up the heat, kissing her spouse hungrily. “Have you ever been fucked in your office, Erica?” Franky asked, whispering against Erica’s lips, kissing her again, then laying a line of nerve jangling pecks, nips and licks down her neck.  
  
“Franky, please…” Erica groaned. “We don’t have time for this.” She pushed against Franky’s chest, a bit more firmly this time. “Besides. Your colleagues should be here any minute.”  
  
Franky moved her other hand down to the hemline of Erica’s skirt and caressed the stocking-clad knee, then slid her hand upwards, inside Erica’s thigh, as far as the snug-fitting skirt would allow. Erica shivered and clamped her thighs together, trapping Franky’s hand.  
  
Franky pushed Erica back onto the desk and knelt in front of her lover, pushing the skirt up with both hands. It slid easily against the silk of Erica’s stockings. Erica was wearing a garter. Franky licked her lips. She hadn’t actually intended for this little snog session to go very far, but Erica had the maddening habit of doing things like walking around in that body, in a garter and silk stockings under a perfectly lovely business skirt and top. Now Franky was sure she needed to fuck Erica before they got on about their work day. Just a speedy couple of fingers inside. Franky knew how to do this posthaste with Erica, bringing her to completion in only minutes.  
  
She stood quickly, pulling Erica’s bum forward off the desk now, moving the skirt further up around Erica’s hips and slipping her fingers into the top of her knickers, sliding them down to half-bum and swiftly slipping one hand into the front, two fingers against Erica’s sex. She swallowed Erica’s moan with a deep, scorching kiss.  
  
Erica wrenched herself from the kiss. “Stop this, please, Franky!” Erica gasped as she grabbed onto the wrist moving between her legs. She battled her body, which was responding to Franky’s touch. She knew Franky would feel her wet in barely a minute or two. “Goddammit!” Franky kissed her again. She knew they shouldn’t do this here. Someone was bound to walk in on them. And it was just… inappropriate. But her body was betraying her, her hips responding to Franky’s caress against her center.  
  
When Franky’s fingers slipped easily inside, Erica gave up, gave in, and spread her legs as wide as her knickers would allow. Franky stopped what she was doing long enough to slide those knickers down to Erica’s ankles, helping her to stay balanced while she stepped out of them. Then she was quickly back at pleasuring the love of her life with fast, hard thrusts. Erica lifted one thigh up to hook around Franky’s waist, meeting the familiar rhythm Franky set, sucking at Franky’s tongue. It felt… incredibly feral. Not just the carnal part of what they were doing, but the illicitness of it. The fear of being caught. She relished the danger, and the safety she felt in Franky’s arms. Franky was very good at driving Erica to simultaneously opposite emotions, and she loved it.  
  
Her mouth fell open panting, as Franky’s fingers worked faster, Franky’s mouth was open on Erica’s neck, moaning against the skin there.  
  
And then it all stopped, rudely. It felt like someone had swiped the record player arm across the vinyl, scratching it. Franky straightened Erica’s skirt and stood back a few steps. The fingers that had just been inside Erica, Franky thrust into her mouth, sucking and licking them, then shoving them into the front pocket of her slacks.  
  
Erica’s mouth was still open, but now in shock and what she could feel was swiftly approaching anger. What the FUCK was THAT!  
  
Just as she was about to articulate the sentiment, Franky’s office door opened and a red-haired, pale women stepped in, focused on Franky.  
  
“Oi, Franky. Here early. I see. I see. I need to talk…” Stacey Arrington then saw Erica. She frowned. Erica Davidson was stunning, if a bit blurry around the edges, like a watercolor painting.  
  
Erica was melting. But with rage and desire. She took a deep breath to compose herself. She put her hand out. “Stacey Arrington. I’m Erica Davidson Doyle. Franky has told me so much about you.”  
  
Stacey stared at Erica’s hand, but didn’t reciprocate. She looked back up at Erica’s face, then at Franky. “Erm. Sorry to interrupt. But I need to see you, Franky.”  
  
“Sure, Stace. Give me a minute to walk Erica out.” She put her arm around Erica, kissing her cheek. “Stace is a bit of a germaphobe. No handshaking around here.”  
  
“Right. Right. Nice to have met you, Miss Davidson,” Stacey said, and turned away to go to her own office.  
  
“Very strange woman…” Erica whispered, turning to face Franky. She was frustrated and aroused, and wanted to stab Stacey Arrington in the eye for interrupting what would surely have been the absolute most fantastic, mind-blowing way to start the day. She kissed Franky deeply.  
  
Franky chuckled into her mouth. “You have no idea,” she whispered back, pecking those lovely lips again. “I’m sorry about that, love. I really thought we had more time. She’s early.”  
  
Erica kissed her again. “Yes, well now you owe me office sex,” she grinned wickedly and turned toward the reception area to collect her things.  
  
Franky laughed out loud and followed her. As they reached the door and she helped Erica into her coat, she kissed her a last time. “I looked at the fertility clinics you suggested, and made an appointment for us to go look at donors tomorrow afternoon if that works for you.” Franky knew it worked for Erica. She pushed her out the door, not giving her time to respond.  
  
Erica turned and looked at Franky through the glass. Her smile was blinding. She had given Franky this information weeks ago, but had been loathe to bring it up again in the interim as time passed and Franky said nothing about it. She was starting to feel pushy, and didn’t want that type of dynamic between them for starting a family. But it seemed that Franky had finally turned a corner. “I love you, Franky Doyle!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, trying not to cry in her joy. She turned toward the lift to go to her car down on the street. And burst into tears.  
  
It wasn’t until she got all the way into her Mercedes and started the engine that she realized Franky still had her knickers.


	5. Touching Your Skin

“DeMedici.”  
  
“Stella D.” Michael’s expression was unreadable.  
  
Stella was nervous. She had put on her bike leathers — matching pants and jacket — to go find Michael on campus after her final class for the day. She hoped she looked sexy. And apologetic. “I’d offer you a ride, but you still have my other helmet.”  
  
Michael frowned. She approached Stella and her bike, eyeing the bike. “I don’t need a helmet. And you’re letting me drive.” She handed Stella her backpack. Stella didn’t take it.  
  
“Why don’t I meet you back at the loft? We can get the helmet and you can drive as long as you like.”  
  
Michael’s eyes blazed. Was Stella telling her no? Again? “Forget it.” She turned to walk away.  
  
Stella jumped from the bike, running to catch up with Michael’s long strides. “Wait! Michael! I’m sorry. Look. You take the helmet.” She jumped in front, facing Michael, walking backward, thrusting the protective gear at her. “I’ll wait for you. Go get the other one and meet me back here.”  
  
Michael slowed her pace, watching carefully to see if Stella was going to run into anything, walking backwards. She didn’t, seeming to have a preternatural sense of herself in space and what was around her, dodging people and foot obstacles with ease. Michael was fascinated. Was this a cop thing? What might it mean in bed?  
  
She stopped walking. “I don’t need a helmet for the twenty minute ride home on side streets, Stella D. I’m a qualified expert stunt rider on the Moto Guzzi.” She turned, heading back to Stella’s motorcycle and mounting it, once again handing her backpack to Stella, this time smirking.  
  
Stella wanted to kiss the smirk off Michael’s smug face. Instead she licked her lips, took the backpack and swung it across her back. “No stunt riding without the cap, right?”  
  
Michael fired up the bike. Stella barely had time to hold on before they peeled out of the university lot.  
  
After retrieving the second helmet, Michael rode them to the edge of the city and to the M3 toward Yarra Valley Parklands, often hitting speeds of nearly 160 kmh. Stella was both frightened and completely exhilarated, but finding herself trusting Michael’s skill with the bike. When they returned to Michael’s loft, Stella pulled off her helmet and dismounted. Her thighs ached from holding on so tightly for so long.  
  
Michael stood across from Stella, her violet eyes burning. Stella could feel herself falling into them. They were both breathing hard, both aroused.  
  
“Are you coming up this time?” Michael asked quietly. She made no move toward Stella. When Stella didn’t answer immediately, Michael handed her the helmet and walked towards the lift.  
  
“Fuck, deMedici! Will you wait?” She quickly secured the gear to her bike and sprinted toward the lift, getting there just in time to scoot in before the doors closed. “You move fast. I need time to catch up. To think. Will you let me talk to you for a minute?”  
  
Michael glared at her and said nothing. When the lift stopped, she exited but stopped in front of her door, not entering. “What do you want, Stella D?”  
  
“I want to know why you call me that,” Stella said. “And I want more than sex with you. But I don’t understand what you could possibly want with me, except that I look exactly like Franky. But I’m not smart like Franky. I’m a cop. With a motorcycle. That’s all.” She examined her fingernails. “I just don’t want my heart smashed to bits, deMedici.”  
  
Michael sighed. What was it about these Doyle girls that got under her skin immediately? Stella was very different than Franky, but no less disarming. The forthrightness caught her off guard. And the sincerity. It was completely believable.  
  
She put two fingers under Stella’s chin and pulled until their eyes met. The Ice Queen was gone. Stella’s eyes were teary. __Christ!_ Please do not cry on me here, Stella D_. _I'm either going to get mean or melt into a puddle. And you're not ready for either of those Michael's yet._ “Just come in, let’s order take out, watch a movie. I promise not to molest you. Yeah?”  
  
Stella nodded.  
  
Michael opened the door and gestured toward the lounge. “Go see if there’s a dvd you’d like to try. Fancy a lager?”  
  
“Sure,” Stella said from across the room. She was trying not to gawk at the view. She turned to look at Michael rummaging in the refrigerator, quickly taking note of the extremely high end features to the flat, the exquisite decor. The brushed mahogany parquet floors. Franky had lived here. She saw the obviously specially made wrought iron stairs leading up to the bedroom and wondered what it looked like; what type of bed Michael had. What were the body products in her shower. When she looked back toward the kitchen, Michael was watching her. She blushed and quickly busied herself perusing the dvd collection.  
  
Michael crossed the room and sat on the lounge, watching Stella. She placed the other beer on the coffee table and took a pull from hers.  
  
“Franky was my employee, Stella Dagostino. And a friend. And we had sex. It was nothing more than that,” she lied, protecting herself. Not trying to deceive Stella. “Obviously. Franky is married to someone who is not me. Would that have happened if there was something other than sex between us?”  
  
Stella had selected a movie and moved to sit on the table across from Michael. She took a sip of the beer left there for her.  
  
“Stella D. Stella Dagostino. I like the way your name feels in my mouth, rolling across my tongue. It’s Italian, you know.”  
  
“Portuguese,” Stella corrected.  
  
“D’Agostino is also an Italian name,” Michael smiled at her. She was so bad at reading Michael’s signals. This was going to be fun, if the girl didn’t drive her batshit. “And you are not Franky. Your dimples are deeper. You have a twinkle in your eye that she doesn’t have. Your kiss is different.” Michael leaned forward. Stella leaned back, looking away. “And you like my bike. That makes me incredibly hot for you, Stella Dagostino, even if you weren’t fucking gorgeous. Being on the bike with you makes me very happy, makes me very horny, makes me want to…” She stopped there.  
  
Stella looked up. “Makes you want to what?” She asked, almost breathless.  
  
“You’ll find out when you’re ready. Won’t you?” She answered, leaning back, relaxing, eyes half closed. “I can wait.”  
  
Stella was drowning in violet pools. She put her beer down on the table after taking a long drink. She stood up in front of Michael, widened her stance, then knelt on the lounge, one knee on either side of deMedici’s hips. She leaned in slowly, slowly advancing toward those enticing lips.  
  
Michael met her in the middle, kissing gently, letting Stella take the lead. She had scared her away last time. She didn’t want to do that again. She put her hands on Stella’s waist, and when Stella didn’t balk, she wrapped her arms around the younger woman, pulling her in closer, teasing her lips with her tongue. Stella sighed, then opened up, deepening the kiss, letting Michael take the lead now.  
  
Stella felt herself falling into this kiss, reveling in the taste and feel of Michael’s lips and tongue. It was better than last time, if that was possible. Slow but intense. She didn’t feel overwhelmed, but did feel the slow burn starting down low in her belly. She felt like she was falling into space, weightless, then realized Michael had maneuvered them down flat on the lounge with Stella on top. The kiss continued. She felt a thigh thrust up between her legs, maddening pressure against her now aching center. She moaned, and Michael’s hands moved to her bum, squeezing, pressing her crotch harder onto that thigh. Stella moaned again, louder.  
  
Michael was at war with herself. She wanted to fuck Stella. Badly. The girl was hot. Incredibly sexy. Delicious.  
  
And Franky’s sister. She didn’t want to hurt her. But wasn’t sure she was up to what Stella wanted. Still, Jesus, she felt good. Michael turned them so that she was now on top. She pushed her hand under Stella’s shirt, struggling with the urge to unbutton her jeans, reach down for that warm wetness she knew was there. To unbutton her own jeans and guide Stella’s hands, then mouth, to her own aching center. She stroked the smooth, fevered skin across Stella’s stomach, pausing when she felt Stella start to tremble.  
  
_Fuck_. She reluctantly ended the kiss. It had to be the longest kiss she had ever been in. It was delicious. Stella was delicious. “Stella Dagostino,” Michael whispered, leaning in, kissing her again quickly. “I think we should order dinner.” She smiled, wickedly.  
  
“Oi, fuck, Michael.” Stella leaned up for another kiss, which Michael gladly delivered. “You had me. You know that.” She was breathing hard. “Why are you stopping?”  
  
Michael kissed her again, lingering over it. She didn’t really want to stop. But she had also resolved to try to respect Stella’s feelings. Her vulnerability. Their potential to remain friends, despite what might happen with them in bed. “I actually can’t do this tonight,” she said soberly. “I can do dinner and a movie, but then I have to hit the books. I have a 7:30am class tomorrow and I still have some reading to do.” This was true. Stella had surprised her this afternoon, showing up on campus unannounced. Michael had expected to have the afternoon to herself. She was more than pleased with the diversion and it’s outcome, but she really did have to study.  
  
And, Stella’s response to the heavy snog was sobering for Michael. Stella’s trembling had taken deMedici aback. The girl really was falling for her. Michael wanted to be careful with that. And she was completely unclear about how she felt about all of this. She wasn’t in love with Stella, by any stretch. But she was growing to like her tremendously. She was incredibly fuckable, rode a bike, and was honest. Like Franky. Michael was intrigued by the prospect of having another person in her life who she could trust.  
  
Stella closed her eyes. That was fine. This was fine. This was super incredibly fucking fine. She wasn’t emotionally ready for sex with this woman, but she had been so ready to strip and beg after that kiss. She wasn’t used to feeling so out of control, but was excited by it. And pleased that Michael actually seemed to care about her feelings. She didn’t think Michael was lying about class in the morning, but also thought maybe the bazillionairess wasn’t going to rut her and dump her, either.  
  
“Thai?” Stella asked, looking up at Michael. Stella blushed.  
  
Michael smiled, cupping Stella’s face with one hand, and kissed her again. “Let’s look at the menus,” she said, pulling Stella up with her, picking her up completely and carrying her into the kitchen, piggyback. Franky would never have let her do this. It had always been something of a battle of wills with Franky. A fight for dominance. Stella was easy, playful. Michael didn’t get to let this side of herself out much, if ever.  
  
They decided on several dishes and Michael called her driver to go pick up the food.  
  
“You know,” Stella said carefully. “They actually deliver? You could just have them bring it to us.”  
  
Michael stared at her, perplexed. “Why would I do that? What would Eddie do all evening then?” Eddie was her driver.  
  
“Go the fuck home, be with his family? All you have to do is tip the delivery guy. They’ll have the food here in half an hour or so.”  
  
Michael thought about this. It sounded absurd. Why waste a perfectly good driver who was downstairs twiddling his thumbs anyway? Plus, having a strange person bring food to the door? “Ah. Hmmm. We’ll try it that way next time, ok?”  
  
Stella nodded and tried not to be too obnoxiously surprised and flabbergasted. Was this what rich people did? Just treat everyone around them like tools? Michael was hot, but the class gap might be too much to bridge. How did Franky deal with it? Stella’s chest ached a little. And they hadn’t even had sex yet.  
  
Michael went back to the lounge and looked to see what movie Stella had chosen. She finished her beer and tried not to laugh out loud. It was _Bound_ , Franky’s favorite.  
  
Once they tucked into the meal and had the movie going, Michael asked Stella about Franky’s car prowler.  
  
“Do you think there’s any danger to Franky or Erica?” Michael asked, seriously.  
  
“Dunno,” Stella answered. “The easiest answer is that it’s one of the kids Erica works with. Has a crush on Erica, jealous of Franky.”  
  
“That’s definitely the easiest. But it could be someone else. With a more sinister motivation. It could even be someone stalking Franky as opposed to trying to impress Erica.”  
  
“Sure. But Franky doesn’t seem to think anyone else she knows of could be up to something so ridiculous.” She looked up and Michael had nearly finished her entire plate of food. What the actual fuck? “Hungry much, deMedici?” Stella had barely finished a spring roll and a couple of bites of pad thai. She hadn’t even gotten to the curry.  
  
“Excuse me?” Michael looked genuinely confused.  
  
“Girl,” Stella continued, “where did you put that entire plate of food?”  
  
Michael looked down a her chopsticks poised over one of few remaining bites of curry chicken and rice. “Oh.” She didn’t exactly blush. “Bad habit.” Stella had definitely gotten under her skin. She only did that fast eating thing at home with her family. And that one time with Franky. It required a certain level of comfort and distress to inhale her food that way. _So why am I distressed?_ She consciously slowed down as she helped herself to another scoop of curry and a spring roll. “Maybe I should run backgrounds on the staff at FemLaw. You guys ran the shelter staff and kids, right?”  
  
“Um hmmm. How would you run background?”  
  
“I have a private investigator on retainer. Holdover from being a barrister. I haven’t let him go.”  
  
Jeez, Stella thought. She’s got at guy on retainer. That’s probably half my annual salary. “Right,” she said. “The guy that found out about Ricci?” Michael nodded. “Let me know if you get anything interesting.” This rich people stuff was going to be hard to navigate. But she was still major crushing on the purple-eyed woman.  
  
“Stop staring at me, Stella Dagostino.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“There you go, telling me no again. You know it just turns me on, yeah?”  
  
“That’s what I’m going for.”  
  
Michael expertly chopsticked a bit of curried carrot from Stella’s plate and fed it to her. “Careful what you go for.”

  
  
***************************************

  
“So where were you the other night, X?” It was a Tuesday, and Erica was at the girls’ home. Christina had been grounded for a month for breaking curfew the past week.  
  
“Out,” she replied petulantly, pouting.  
  
“Right. What were you doing that was so important you risked a month on punishment?”  
  
Christina only glared.  
  
“Ok, Chr… X. When you’re ready to talk, come find me.”  
  
“I want to talk to you, Erica. Just not about that.”  
  
“Well, I am not going to support your behavior. Not only did you endanger yourself, but you disrupted the house and put undue stress on your minders. That’s very selfish, X.”  
  
“I can take care of myself! I don’t need these minders! I don’t even want to be here!”  
  
_Oh my god. Who is this, Franky junior?_ “That’s clearly not the case, X. Else you wouldn’t be here.”  
  
The tears started. “They’re awful to me here, Erica. Everyone. All they do is boss me around, tell me what I can’t do. I hate it!”  
  
Erica’s heart went out to the teen. _Not Franky junior. She would have told me to fuck off._ She sat down next to Christina on the bed and pulled her into her arms, into a warm, friendly, caring hug. The girl clung to her, sniffling. “It’s only a few more years, X. You need to follow the rules, figure out how to get along here. It’s not going to be much different when you’re on your own. You have to figure out how to get along with people. Rules aren’t made just to single you out, be mean to you. They’re to keep everyone safe. And to help form good habits instead of bad ones.”  
  
In sitting on the bed, Erica had jostled Christina’s notebook, which fell open onto the floor. The girl held on to that thing fiercely. Erica hadn’t really wondered what was in there, assuming it was a diary of things in Christina’s head Erica did not want to know about. But it wasn’t. It was an unlined sketch book. The page that fell open was a detailed, almost photo-perfect drawing of Erica herself. And it was quite flattering.  
  
“X…” she started. The girl looked up at her. “I didn’t realize you were such a talented artist. Why don’t you share your work?”  
  
Christina looked around wildly, spotting her sketch pad lying open on the floor and scrambled to recover it, slapping it closed. “No one’s supposed to see it. It’s mine.” She backed herself into the corner of the bedroom, absolutely terrified.  
  
“Come back here and sit with me, X. What is it?”  
  
The tears continued. “No one is supposed to see. Mum said…” She stopped there and stared at her feet.  
  
Jesus. “What did your Mum say?”  
  
“Nothing. Leave me alone.”  
  
“X, I’d like to help.”  
  
“Go away!” Christina turned her face to the corner, her back to Erica.  
  
Erica stood, truly saddened at the plight of this girl. This child. Christina was barely fifteen years old, abandoned by her family, and very good at alienating everyone around her. She had no idea what a positive relationship even looked like.  
  
“Ok. I will leave you alone now, but I’m not going away. I’ll be in the great room until 8:00 if you’d like to talk some more.” No response. “I’d really like to see your drawings, Christina.”  
  
The girl hunched her shoulders, shaking, and sobbed.  
  
Erica approached her, despite the request for space, and placed a gentle hand on the back of her neck, rubbing there soothingly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you that. It is a lovely name, though, X. And I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here for you. So whenever you want to talk to me, I’ll be here. I really want for you to feel safe with me.”  
  
The sobs subsided a bit, and Christina didn’t move away, which Erica took as a good sign. She backed away slowly and exited the room.  
  
*********************************  
  
Franky was working late. Erica was with the girls tonight, so Franky was putting in some extra hours on a domestic abuse case. Franky hated this one. It was vile. A 42 year old man had tried to sodomize a three year old, who had run out of the house and to a neighbor, describing to the neighbor that the “bad man” was “hurting her in her bum.” It turned out that he had been sexually abusing all four of his girlfriend’s daughters, ages seven, eight, ten and thirteen, and had started in on the fifth, the only one he had fathered, the three year old who brought the whole house down. The mother claimed to know nothing, was dumb as a sack of rocks. Franky believed she knew, and allowed it to happen. All of the girls were now in care. Franky was representing the children. Their stories were heartbreaking.  
  
She sighed deeply and pressed her fists against her eyes. Whatever her parents had done to her, she thanked the gods sexual abuse wasn’t part of it. She’d had her share of assault in prison, but she was an adult. Not a child.  
  
Her thoughts then turned to Erica, their appointment at the fertility clinic. They had decided on a donor that was genetically as much like Franky as possible. Italian and Irish heritage, olive-skinned. Brown hair and eyes — there wasn’t a green-eyed Italian in the lot. An American student, engineering and architecture. Surfer. He was beautiful and had since returned to the states, expressly stating he had no interest in being a part of any child’s life. Perfect.  
  
Franky also had some of her ova harvested. Their second child would be hers that Erica would carry to term. Erica hoped that Franky’s eggs would yield at least one set of wins. They had broached the subject of whether to find another donor or ask one of Erica’s brothers. Vince would do it in a heartbeat. It made Franky a little squeamish to think of Erica carrying her child who was also her brother’s child. Too C _hinatown-ish_ for Franky. But Erica was all for it. That way, the children would be genetically related. Franky would probably cave — could she really ever say no to her golden girl? But she wasn’t ready for that capitulation yet. _At least one set of twins. What if there were two sets of twins? It isn’t unknown in twin families._ An image popped into her head of she and Erica sitting at the dining table, a diapered, food-spattered baby in each lap, and three children of various ages to each side of them. Eight kids. Her brain almost exploded. She mentally changed the subject.  
  
She mused on what she and Erica would be like together as parents. Franky was quite worried about how she would handle it, her temper still being quite fierce. They hadn’t talked about discipline. Franky believed that sparing the rod spoiled the child, but she was quite sure the Davidson family were new-agey let’s-talk-it-out-use-your-words kind of people. Erica probably wouldn’t stand for any smacking of the baby. _Well, I wouldn’t smack a baby,_ Franky smiled to herself. _But a cheeky teen is going down_. Decades. Children stayed for at least 18 years. If they had more than one, they were in for 20 - 25 years together, at least. Franky felt a little woozy at the thought of what her life would be like in 25 years. That would make her 54. If you’d asked her even five years ago, Franky would have been sure she wouldn’t see 30, that she would be dead and forgotten.  
  
But then she had met Erica Davidson. At Wentworth, of all places.  
  
Speaking of Wentworth, the girls from Erica’s volunteer effort, Sam and Gia, had come to see her several weeks back. They started out a giggling mass of teen hormonal flirting, but turned out Gia’s mum was at Wentworth. She had asked if Franky could do anything about her mum’s case and Franky had agreed to look at it. Drug dealing. It turned out there was something Franky could do about it, but she hadn’t cleared it with Stace yet. She needed to do that and get back to the girls about next steps.  
  
Her mobile rang.  
  
“Hey gorgeous,” Franky beamed at her iphone.  
  
“I love you, Franky. Are you still at the office?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“I’ll be round in ten.”  
  
“I’ll be ready. Hey Erica?”  
  
“Franky?”  
  
“We’re not having, like, eight kids, are we?”  
  
Erica laughed softly. It was like little bells, tinkling in Franky’s ear. She smiled at the sound, wishing she could think of something else to say to make her laugh again like that. She wanted very much to be hearing that sound when she was 54.  
  
“That sounds like a bit much. Even for me. Why?”  
  
“I don’t know. Just thinking.”  
  
“I’m betting you do know. Stop worrying, baby. It’s not like I’m going to accidentally get pregnant, you know. We have to plan this. Let’s just get to this one first. Final night with the turkey baster, yeah?”  
  
They had the sperm. Erica was in her high fertility days. They had been advised to try three nights in a row and had accomplished two. But neither of them seemed to be able to keep a straight face with the syringe jammed up Erica’s junk. It was just… funny.  
  
Franky snorted. “Yeah. We have to be serious tonight though. Having an orgasm dramatically increases the chances of conception.”  
  
“Well then you have to stop making me laugh.”  
  
They talked for several more minutes. Suddenly, the lights in the outer office went on. They automatically shut off at 6pm, but were motion activated. Franky hadn’t heard anyone come in.  
  
“Someone may be here. I’ll call you back.”  
  
“Wait! Don’t…”  
  
Franky rang off. She stood up and walked around her desk, into the outer office and collided full on with Stacey.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
“Oh! Oh! Franky Doyle! What are you doing here? It’s late…”  
  
Franky stepped back, eyeing Stacey. “Oi, Stace. You scared crap out of me. I’m working. What brought you back at this hour?” It also seemed like Stacey had been making a beeline for Franky’s office.  
  
Stacey Arrington rocked back on her heels, seeming to consider this for a moment.  
  
_What’s to think about? What the actual fuck is going on? Why were you going into my office?_  
  
Then she smiled. Stacey smiled. It actually warmed her face up considerably, made her almost pretty. Franky had never seen Stace smile before.  
  
“Busted,” she said. “Everyone’s been working so hard lately, but especially you, Franky. Plus, having Michael deMedici here has already brought more resources and more visibility for the firm. That’s down to you too.” She dug into the large leather purse slung over her shoulder. “I brought everyone treats, and I wanted it to be a surprise. But I got you something extra special.”  
  
She pulled out a large bag of Italian chocolates from Perugia and a number of boxes of toblerone. And a bottle of prosecco. A very nice bottle of prosecco, Franky had to admit.  
  
“I was going to leave this in your office with a personal note. But I guess I’ll just give it to you now.” She thrust her hand out with the bottle in it.  
  
Franky was a little gobsmacked. Where was the odd duck, stuttering office marm? This woman exuded a smooth confidence. Franky had seen Stacey do this bit in court, and often in the office with the rest of the staff. But one-to-one with Franky, she always seemed awkward.  
  
“Ah. Good on ya, Stace… Thank you.” She accepted the bottle.  
  
Stacey then blew by her, moving swiftly toward the kitchenette, where she unloaded the rest of the treats on the bench. She turned, leaning casually against the sink. “You on your own tonight? Fancy a drink?”  
  
Franky’s eyes went wide and she shook her head a bit, trying to clear the fuzz. _Who is this woman, and what did she do with Stace?_  
  
Just then there was a frantic banging on the office door behind her. She turned to see Erica, wild-eyed. She frowned and went over to let her spouse in.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“You said someone was here! And then you rang off, Franky! You have someone stalking you… I was afraid something had happened.”  
  
_Oops_. “Not stalking, Erica.” She pulled her into a tight embrace. “Just a hormonal teen troublemaker. I’d bet the store on it.”  
  
“What’s this?” It was Stace. Franky turned with Erica in her arms. “You have a stalker?”  
  
“You remember my partner Erica, Stace, yeah?”  
  
“Of course. Nice to see you, Erica. What’s this about a stalker?” Stacey seemed genuinely concerned.  
  
“A bit of car trouble — you may remember when I was late several weeks back. Someone spray painted my car.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That’s not all, Franky.” Erica stepped out of the embrace. “Barely two weeks before that, someone keyed the car and flattened all four tires. Right here, in broad daylight, outside this office.”  
  
Stace’s frown deepened. “That’s awful.” Her gaze turned inward for a brief few seconds. “Any ideas who might have done it?”  
  
“No — and nothing since. I’m betting just random heathens,” Franky said. “Or maybe karmic justice. Keyed a few cars myself, in my wild and misspent youth.”  
  
“Sorry to hear about your trouble, Franky. I’ve wanted security cameras up around this building since we got here. Maybe with the deMedici muscle visible, we can finally get the management to put some up. I wish you’d told me about this sooner.”  
  
“Franky,” Erica scolded. “I don’t know if you’ve read up on my girl here,” she continued. “But she attracts mayhem. Google her, if you haven’t already.”  
  
Stace smiled again. “Haven’t. Will do. And on that note,” she readjusted her coat, buttoning it against the weather. “I’ll leave you to it.” She bustled around Erica and Franky, and was gone.  
  
Franky’s mouth hung open.  
  
“She didn’t seem so awkward this time,” Erica remarked.  
  
“No kidding,” Franky said, dumbfounded. Had Stace asked her out for a drink?  
  
Erica turned to her and kissed her, lingering. “If you’re nice to me on the way home, I’ll let you load the turkey baster.”  
  
Franky burst out laughing.  
  
**************************************  
  
They were on the bed, naked, two pillows propped under Erica’s backside. It supposedly helped, angling the pelvis so that the baby-makers could more easily sit against the cervix, working their way in. Made sense.  
  
Franky was lying on her belly between Erica’s legs, holding the syringe full of the baby-makers. Her face even with Erica’s sex. Franky loved looking at Erica’s most intimate parts. They were beautiful, like the most delicate, delicious, responsive flower in the universe. Franky kissed her there, licked her clitoris. Then sucked there, gently.  
  
“Mmmmmmm,” Erica moaned. Franky was trying a different approach tonight, which Erica greatly appreciated. The previous two nights, they had both been so intrigued by the little vial, putting it in, mashing the plunger and trying not to giggle, they had completely missed the foreplay aspect of this operation. She focused on the sensations Franky was causing, and tried to forget the “turkey baster.” One side of her lip curled up into a half smile, but she fought it.  
  
Franky began working Erica’s clit earnestly. She moaned again, louder. “Fuck, Franky. That’s so goooood,” she said. She needed the cuffs, something to struggle against, something to pull on. She reached up for the headboard but couldn’t quite reach it. She put one hand in Franky’s hair, grasping it tightly. “Harder.” Franky complied. Erica wanted more. “Fuck me, Franky. Please!”  
  
Fucking was not part of the equation here, Franky knew. Vaginal penetration could interfere with conception. Besides, she wasn’t a complete contortionist with six arms. One arm was anchoring Erica pelvis, which was beginning to move wildly against her mouth, despite the awkward angle provided by the pillows. The other hand held the syringe. How was she going to give Erica what she needed and make this baby happen? She needed to improvise.  
  
She slowed down with her mouth so Erica would slow down with her hips. This worked. Franky pushed the syringe inside her. She heard Erica snicker.  
  
“Come on!” Franky said, trying not to laugh herself. She latched on to Erica’s clit again, pulling firmly with her lips while with her free hand, she reached up and pinched Erica’s nipple. Hard.  
  
“Aaaaaah FUCK!”  
  
That got her attention. Franky continued to pinch and twist the nipple while slowly pushing the plunger fully into the syringe. When she felt it stop, she pulled it out slowly, increasing the pressure with her mouth as she flung the little plastic thing across the room. She put two fingers in her mouth, lubricating them quickly, then shoved them into Erica’s bum.  
  
“Oh GOD, Franky!” Erica was close. Franky stayed focused, her mouth and both hands creating a symphony of sensation that jangled Erica’s nerves from her head to her toes. Both hands clutched Franky’s head, pulling hard at her hair. Franky moaned against Erica’s center. That additional stimulation, the vibration on her clit, sent Erica over the edge. Hard.  
  
_Finally! Thank you Jesus!_ Franky crawled up Erica’s body, kissing her deeply, then curling herself around her spouse, cradling her gently, supporting her to not move while the sperm did it’s thing. She loved to feel the aftershocks of Erica’s climax, the full body trembling touching her skin, knowing she caused that. Knowing Erica needed that from her. Knowing she could give that type of pleasure to the person she loved more than her life. And knowing Erica did the same for her.  
  
“Oh God, Franky,” Erica panted. “I think we made a baby.”  
  
Franky kissed her again. “How could you possibly know that?”  
  
Erica held on to her tightly, looking deep into her eyes. “I felt something.” She closed her eyes. “It was like… I don’t know how to describe it.”  
  
Franky stroked her face tenderly. “Remember the first time we kissed?”  
  
Erica smiled. Opened her eyes. “You mean when you sexually assaulted me in the Governor’s office?”  
  
“No. After that. When you kissed me back.”  
  
Erica laughed. “Yes.” The light bulb went off. “How could you… What….” She looked genuinely perplexed. “It was exactly like that, Franky. When I kissed you back. Everything clicked. Everything made sense.” She stroked Franky’s back. “But how could you possible know that?”  
  
Franky kissed her. Deeply. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just feel like you’re inside of me. Or I’m inside you. I don’t know what it is. It just is.”  
  
Erica stopped breathing. What had she done to deserve this pure spirit, this amazing woman, who consistently took her breath away? Who loved her so deeply, so thoroughly, so completely that it hurt? The tears came. “Franky,” she whispered. Franky kissed her again, kissed away her tears.  
  
“Miss Davidson.”  
  
“Franky.”  
  
“Erica.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I think we made a baby.”  



	6. Leaves on the Wind

Erica was in the produce department of their local grocery, shopping for salad fixings. They had already been to the seafood market to get fresh clams. Franky was making Erica’s favorite dish for dinner, _linguine con vongole_ , to celebrate Erica missing her period. They hadn’t had an official doctor’s visit and confirmation of early stage pregnancy yet, but Erica was more than seven days late. She had chosen cucumbers and turned to put them in the trolley, when she spotted a familiar figure juggling two cantaloupe, weighing them in his hands.  
  
“Mark?” She called out.  
  
He looked up at her, put the melons down. “Hello Erica,” he said. He stared at her.  
  
She shook her head in disbelief as she pushed her trolley toward him. He looked good. A little heavier. Starting to gray, but still plainly handsome. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Shopping?” He said, smiling at her.  
  
Erica thought about hugging him, then felt the familiar tingle of hairs rising on the back of her neck, then felt Franky’s hand on the small of her back. She turned and kissed Franky full on the mouth, lingering long enough to make it obvious they were a very happy couple. “Franky, you remember Mark?”  
  
“Of course,” she said, resisting the urge to put a possessive arm around Erica’s waist. Erica did her one better by putting one hand in the back pocket of Franky’s jeans. “How you going?”  
  
Mark stopped smiling, but put his hand out to great Franky, shaking hers. “Good. You two?”  
  
“Good, Mark,” Erica continued. “Why are you here, shopping in this market?”  
  
“Moved back a couple of months ago. Expanding here in Melbourne.” A tall, blonde, obviously pregnant woman approached and wrapped a possessive arm about Mark’s waist.  
  
“Honey,” she said. “Who are these lovely women?” She knew damn well who they were.  
  
“Erica, Franky, this is Jenna, my wife.”  
  
“Oh Mark! Congratulations!” Erica said, genuinely please for him. “It is so nice to meet you, Jenna. When are you due?”  
  
Franky watched this woman plaster a very fake smile on her face. She was the spitting image of Erica, but several centimeters taller. _Awkward!_  
  
“Any day now,” she said pleasantly, glaring at Mark. She addressed him as he blushed vividly. “You forgot to mention that this is your ex-wife’s neighborhood, honey.”  
  
“For christsakes, Jen. We’ve barely been here a month. How was I to know she was still here? She could’ve been in Tasmania for all I know.” He turned back to Erica and Franky. “I probably should have called. Sorry to crowd you in,” he seemed authentically apologetic. Both for the surprise and for his wife’s testiness. “It’s the hormones. She’s a little off her game.”  
  
Jenna’s eyes narrowed. “You did not just — apologize for me. And talk about my hormones. To your ex-wife.”  
  
Franky started backing away, pulling Erica with her as Jenna tore Mark a new one. He looked appropriately cowed.  
  
“Fuuuuuuckng-A!” Franky swore.  
  
Erica continued to watch them as Franky guided her away from the fruit and back toward the veggies. “Is it me, or does she look like me?”  
  
“Looks like you,” Franky answered, bagging some rocket. “Guess he has a type. But damn, that’s awkward. You think he would of found someplace else to buy food. Or warned her, at least.”  
  
“I’m sure it never occurred to him that he would be in a grocery. He never did groceries,” she said, picking up avocados, but still watching Mark argue with his wife.  
  
“You know, I’ve seen her in here before, several times. I’m sure she’s seen you too. And she would have noticed, if she’s not completely clueless. Wonder why she never mentioned it to him before.”  
  
“Are you sure you’ve seen her?”  
  
“Are you kidding? She looks almost exactly like you, Erica. Of course I’ve noticed her. That’s what I’m saying. Wonder what kind of game she’s up to.”  
  
“I don’t know whether to be creeped out or feel sad that Mark married someone that looks like me. Or do you think it’s a coincidence?”  
  
“No, I’d say sad. But she’s a bit odd. I’m going to ask Stel to check her out.”  
  
“You don’t really think she would do anything, do you, to either of us? Wait, would she be trashing your car?” Erica stood with her arms crossed, watching Franky choose snap peas.  
  
“Nah. She would be trashing your car. But it can’t hurt to know a bit more about her. Just in case.” She finished choosing the rest of their salad veggies, and walked with Erica to the fruit, now that Mark and Jenna had cleared. “How do you feel about running into him? About he and Jenna living, apparently, in the neighborhood?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Erica answered, wanting very much to kiss Franky again. In the grocery store. Where everyone could see. Had she finally moved past feeling inhibited? “I think there is some lingering guilt about leaving him in the way that I did; marrying him in the first place. Staying with him so long…”  
  
“Yikes! Sorry I asked.”  
  
“But it all means I get to be here. Now. With you.” Erica did kiss Franky then. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”  
  
**********************************  
  
It was a week later, and Erica was developing an edge. Franky’s disciplinary tactics were honing it into a blade. “You aren’t going!”  
  
It had started when they had almost had sex in Franky’s office, but were rudely interrupted by Franky’s boss, who arrived to work earlier than usual. Since then, Erica hadn’t felt truly satisfied by anything Franky did with her sexually. She was frustrated as hell. And she needed a break. From what, she wasn’t sure. But being a sub was making her very, very cranky. Every time Franky gave her direction, made a unilateral decision, Erica felt iron in her spine.  
  
“You can’t be serious, Franky.” Erica was even annoyed that they were arguing. They hadn’t had a true disagreement in over a year. Maybe that was part of the problem.  
  
The house where Erica volunteered, Hunter Home, was going on retreat. All 15 of the girls and 7 staff. And Erica had accepted an invitation to go on the 10-day trek with them. She was excited by the prospect of having so much quality time with the girls; and the adventure. Erica was a very experienced trekker and in excellent physical shape. And very good with her hands. Her family had been avid trekkers growing up but as she got to adulthood, her career had taken over. She was salivating to get out into the wild for a few days.  
  
“Erica, I am telling you you are not going out into the bush with our children in your belly!”  
  
Franky had nearly passed out in the doctor’s office when during the ultrasound, that squishy galloping sound came through. Then it doubled, and they thought there may be a problem with the baby. And then they discovered the second fetus. Two heartbeats. Well, it wasn’t far-fetched — Erica had twins in her family as well. Her younger siblings, Vincent and Veronica.  
  
Erica continued to pack her belongings. She’d been online and to the outdoors shop collecting all the necessary items — new boots, flannels, insulated socks, down sleeping bag. And some old stand by’s — swiss army knife her da had given her for her 10th birthday. An old fashioned scuffed, bronze-plated butane lighter. She flipped the top back, smiling at the sound, then rubbed her thumb down the flint. Flick! It still worked. Her smile widened as she remembered trying to smoke cigarettes with her friends as a teen, coughing and laughing, feeling very cool and sophisticated with that lighter.  
  
Erica was nearly seven weeks into her pregnancy, had barely gained a pound, and they hadn’t told anyone yet. Erica wanted to be showing before she informed anyone. And given the way Franky was acting now, she was going to be confined to quarters for most of her pregnancy anyway. It was infuriating, actually, that Franky didn’t think she could handle a few days in the bush. And she wasn’t feeling so submissive these days. She wanted to go on the trek. She needed to get out of the house. _Away from Franky._ She felt confined already.  
  
Away from Franky. This was new. And Erica didn’t like the sensation. But she knew if she didn’t create some space for herself, they were going to have a blow out. She didn’t think Franky could handle that and the pregnancy. Franky was on pins and needles around her since they found out there were twins. She had read every possible piece of literature about what might complicate a twin pregnancy. And while she didn’t say it, Erica knew Franky anticipated the worst.  
  
Erica felt like Franky had wrapped her in bubble wrap, then gauze, then pillows. She could barely breathe. And Franky had decided that there would be no more kinky sex until after the babies were born. Erica was not happy about that. At all. The doctor had said what ever felt good to Erica would feel good to the babies. They would only feel Erica’s emotional state, not the physicality of anything. But Franky wasn’t having it.  
  
That’s when the edge had sharpened. She was getting high strung.  She would cut her way out of this if she had to. She didn’t know how to stop it. And she feared someone was going to get hurt. She needed Franky to be in control of her desire, not her body or her life. Somehow, Franky had missed this little nuance. Erica hadn’t fully understood it herself until this moment.  
  
She looked up at Franky, her eyes blue steel, hooked the rucksack over one shoulder and headed to the front of the flat to drop it by the front door. The transport would be there to pick her up at 6am the following morning.  
  
When she turned to go into the lounge, Franky was on her, eyes emerald fire. “What do you think you’re doing? Really?” She growled.  
  
Franky was so close Erica could feel her breath, short angry puffs, against her lips. She closed her eyes and sighed, putting both hands on Franky’s stomach, drawing them up in somewhat of a caress to lay flat against Franky’s chest. “I need to go, Franky. I need to breathe. I can’t…” She opened her eyes. She felt calmer, oddly with heated and angry Franky next to her. Aroused, even. “I’m going. You won’t stop me.” She started to move away.  
  
Before she knew what had happened, Franky had slammed Erica against the door, trapping her hands on either side of her head, one knee between her legs. “Not. Will,” she said, quietly, contradicting Erica’s statements. Then she kissed Erica. Hard. Erica struggled against her, but soon began to kiss back. Hungrily.  
  
Franky felt the slow coil of fire start in her center, and pulled back. She would not let Erica wind her up. She was clear she wasn’t going to physically punish Erica until the pregnancy was finished, the babies safely out of the womb.  
  
Franky watched her spouse. Erica’s eyes were wild. Metallic. “That’s what I thought,” Franky said, brashly, taking a step back.  
  
Erica’s right hand shot out, slapping Franky squarely in the face. A red handprint stood out starkly on Franky’s cheek, her eyes wide, her fingers gingerly exploring the sting. Erica glared at her defiantly.  
  
Franky licked her lips and smiled. Then put her hand in Erica’s hair, close to the scalp, jerking her down to her knees. “You are such a bad girl, Miss Davidson.”  
  
Erica could have wept. She wrapped her arms around Franky’s thighs. “Yes, mistress.”  
  
Franky walked Erica into the bedroom, hand firmly entangled in blond locks, and shoved her face first onto the bed. Erica lay there motionless, her breath coming in short rasps as Franky yanked her stretch pants down to her ankles. She felt the cool air against the hot arousal of her center. She arched her bum up slightly in anticipation.  
  
And Franky delivered. Belt or whip? Erica couldn’t exactly tell, but didn’t care. The lashing pain against her backside was exactly what she needed. She moaned, the iron in her spine starting to soften as she slipped one hand underneath herself to put pressure against her clit. Franky continued to deliver methodic, stinging lashes. Erica began to writhe against her fingers, then slipped two inside.  
  
The lashes stopped.  
  
“No, Franky! Please don’t stop! I need you, so much. Please!” Erica begged turning over. Franky’s face was a study in mixed emotion, both heated and frustrated. “I need you,” Erica whispered. “I need this.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt the babies.”  
  
“You won’t, honey. Please!” Erica watched the internal struggle. Why was Franky having such a hard time with this? It was a simple enough equation. And then to her horror, Franky’s eyes filled with tears.  
  
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” She screamed, then left the room.  
  
Erica lay back, her hands over her face. She heard the front door open, then slam closed. She did not weep. The iron in her sharpening into gleaming, eviscerating steel.  
  
When Franky returned to the flat, Erica was gone. When Erica returned, much later in the evening, Franky was sprawled across the lounge, fast asleep, a bottle of vodka and a shot glass  on the coffee table. She was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and her hair was a tangled, beyond bedhead mess. What had she been doing?  
  
Under normal conditions, Erica would have found this Franky adorable. Irresistable. Now she was just frustrated, near a limit she wouldn’t have even known about if not for Franky Doyle. She went into the bedroom and slammed the door.  
  
Minutes later, Franky appeared in the doorway. They stared at one another, Franky unreadable, Erica, angry.  
  
“I can’t do what you want me to do, Erica.” Franky approached the bed, where Erica sat with her knees drawn up against her chest.”  
  
“You can but you won’t.”  
  
Franky sat and reached out for Erica’s hand. “No, I can’t. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. The kids. You don’t understand, Erica.”  
  
Erica drew back from Franky’s touch. “You can’t even hurt me when I want you to. What makes you think you’ll hurt anyone, let alone me or the babies.” She scooted away from Franky. “Don’t touch me.”  
  
Franky was taken aback. “What do you mean?”  
  
Erica looked away. “I don’t know. I… I can’t stand this. I feel like a serrated knife, Franky.”  
  
Franky actually did know what Erica meant. But she didn’t know how to fix this. Not without potentially tearing them completely apart. And she was mortally afraid of that. She sighed, heavily, shaking the dark thoughts away, knowing she would have to make a decision about this. Soon.  
  
Erica looked back at Franky. Her eyes were blue steel. “I know what I need. You know it too. Everything works when we are together in that, Franky. Everything.”  
  
Franky looked away, then down at her fingernails. Erica recognized this gesture. Something was really going on with Franky, more than what she was saying. But Erica was past trying to empathize, trying to understand. She felt hard, feral.  
  
“You’re going on the trek?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“We’ll talk when you get back.”  
  
When Erica awoke in the morning. Franky’s side of the bed was cold. She hadn’t slept there at all last night. Erica was tired of it all. She went to shower and eat something before leaving. As she entered the lounge going toward the entry way, she was aware of Franky, there. Watching her.  
  
Erica knelt to check the zippers and velcro on her rucksack, then stood. Franky was right behind her.  
  
“Be careful,” she said evenly.  
  
“I will,” Erica responded. Franky made no move to touch her. Erica closed her eyes. _How did we come to this? I just want her hands on me. I need her close. Why can’t she just do this with me?_ She exhaled, her body aching from lack of contact with her lover, and turned toward the door, reaching for her rucksack.  
  
Franky surprised her by pushing her full body against her back, pressing them both against the door. Not hard, but firmly, so that Erica was trapped.  
  
Erica reached an arm back over her shoulder, tangling her fingers in Franky’s hair, pulling their mouths together roughly. Franky kissed her, channeling her anger into the kiss, clicking their teeth together. Erica’s breathing quickened as she tasted blood in her mouth. Franky brought her hands around to Erica’s breasts, kneading them roughly. Erica moaned.  
  
_Now? My ride is downstairs. Really, Francesca Nicole?_ This wasn’t about anything but control for Franky. Erica pushed her away. “Franky…” she said, wearily. Franky advanced. “Francesca!” Erica said, quietly. Firmly.  
  
Franky froze. This was the first time Erica had ever used a safe word. Erica pulled on her rucksack, grabbed her all-weather jacket from the front closet, and left.  
  
Franky went to the kitchen, pulled all of the dinner plates out of the cabinet and placed them in a neat stack on the bench in the middle island. Then proceeded to hurl them across the room, crashing them to millions of tiny pieces against the refrigerator. She didn’t stop until every last one of their 12 ceramic dinner plates was smashed.  
  
***********************************  
  
Over the next 10 days, Franky spent her time with Michael and Stella, who seemed to be getting on quite well. They went out for dinner a couple of times. Franky cooked a couple of times. They ordered in and watched movies at Michael’s once.   
  
And then there was Stacey Arrington. The bumbling, nervous Stacey of the office seemed to have disappeared. An engaging, confident, funny Stacey had invited Franky out for drinks several times and Franky finally accepted. She found this Stace a great conversationalist, a brilliant person with whom to discuss legal strategy, especially after a couple of drinks. Franky began to really look forward to the social time with Stace.  
  
Underneath it all, Franky was steeling herself for Erica’s return. And the aftermath of Franky's betrayal.


	7. Nothing Left to do at Night

The first couple of days out in the bush were exhilarating. All of the girls behaved swimmingly — including X, who was so far out of her comfort zone that she didn’t have energy or inclination to torment Erica with errant behavior. If anything, she was docile, attentive, focused. Erica spent a lot of time walking and talking with X, explaining to her the ups and downs, ins and outs of trekking. They fished for dinner. They collected firewood and cut it into appropriate campfire sizes. They slept under the stars — well, inside the tents, anyway. It wasn’t until the third day out that Erica felt the pangs of missing Franky. Erica couldn’t even say what had gotten under her skin to make her feel so irritable, edgy; but she could apologize when she got home.  
  
It wasn’t just Erica being annoyed and frustrated though. Franky was keeping something from her. And Franky was afraid. The last time this had happened, when Franky refused to indulge their kink, was after Erica had been attacked in the carpark below the flat. It scared the living daylights out of Franky. Even though the Tactical Response Team had arrived well in time to get Erica out of danger, there was a moment when Erica was talking to Franky on the mobile, trying to get out of the building, and the mobile had gone silent. Erica had actually been grabbed by this maniac sent by former governor Joan Ferguson, a knife pressed to her throat. But TRT had recovered her safely. She hadn’t even required stitches.  
  
Franky had gone into a very dark place for nearly a week after that, pushing them both to an extreme with which even Erica wasn’t so comfortable. The outcome was incredibly pleasurable; but the way they got there… Erica wasn’t so keen on revisiting that dynamic. She had provoked Franky into a rage that frightened her. Franky hadn’t actually hurt her — no more than she wanted to be. But the wild look in Franky’s eyes — Erica never wanted to be responsible for that again. They needed to find another way to create that level of intensity.  
  
But what was Franky holding back? _What was this new secret? Was it new, or had she just effectively buried it? And if so, what was bringing it between them now?_ Erica spent the next week missing Franky more and more every day, but starting to dread whatever it was Franky wasn’t saying. Erica couldn’t think of anything that would be a deal-breaker for her with Franky Doyle. Not a thing. Had Franky cheated? With Bridget? With Michael? With some new skag that Erica was going to have to stab in the eye? Surely not Stacey Arrington… And Franky wasn’t leaving her. Was she? That didn’t seem to be in the cards at all — no indication that Franky was the least bit unhappy in their relationship. Except this over-controlling, over protecting thing.  
  
When the trek came to an end, Erica was still high on the experience. Exceedingly happy that she had made the decision to defy Franky and be out in the bush with the girls. On the drive back to the home, she resolved to apologize for her own edginess with Franky; but she also needed to get at what was bothering her spouse. Clear the air.  
  
**********************************  
  
Franky was on pins and needles as she cruised in Erica’s Mercedes to to pick her girl up at Hunter Home. Ten days had passed since their fight. Franky was excited about finally seeing her spouse again — this was the longest they had been separated since they had come together over a year ago. And they’d had no contact — no mobile coverage out in the bush. The trekkers had a satellite mobile for emergencies, but there didn’t seem to have been any. Franky missed the hell out of Erica. But she had also decided it was time to come clean about why she really held back the kink now that Erica was pregnant. What she had done that may finally send Erica running for the hills. _I just need to tell her, clear it  up. She won’t leave you. We have babies coming. And we love each other. We belong together. She won’t (might) leave. She won’t (could). Arrrrgh. Buck up, Doyle. Keep it together._  
  
Erica emerged from inside Hunter Home, deeply tanned, new crows feet edging her eyes. Her hair had lightened in streaks from the constant, intense sun exposure. And she was covered in dust and grime from head to foot. Franky had never seen anything more beautiful. The thousand watt grin split Franky’s face.  
  
When Erica spotted Franky leaning against her Mercedes in the drive, she stopped, frozen in her tracks, staring. Franky was in tight denims and a clinging KMFDM tee shirt - a tee shirt that had been shredded in such a way as to best display Franky’s most colorful tattoos. Erica’s favorite of Franky’s tees. The back said, “Better than never, ever before!” Definitely Franky Doyle. That swaggering self confidence, the brilliant, smug smile; the possessive gaze that raked Erica from head to toe. She still took Erica’s breath away. Half the girls in the house, including staff, had stopped to watch Franky emerge from the car and pose there arms crossed, leaning, waiting.  
  
Erica had had exactly the time that she needed over the past ten days. Exhausting. Exhilarating.  Not so much time to wax depressed and poetic about Franky Doyle and their lack of kinky sex. Being focused on wildlife survival, trekking, and the girls had consumed her completely. In exactly the way she needed. The iron, the serrated edge, seemed to have dissipated. Her smile was wide, open, free and completely ecstatic in seeing her lover.  
  
Franky relaxed tremendously at seeing the change in Erica’s disposition, but not completely. They still needed to have that conversation. _The conversation after which she’s not going to leave you._ Not really about Erica’s behavior. Franky understood why Erica might be tossed, pregnant and frustrated — especially with Franky holding out. It was her own insecurity and lack of forthrightness that had really stuffed them up. Kept her from being the partner, both in bed and out of it, that Erica deserved.  
  
Erica approached Franky slowly, dragging her rucksack behind her. “Hi,” she said, grinning.  
  
“Hi yourself,” Franky said, reaching a hand out, beckoning Erica.  
  
She stopped several feet shy. “I’m filthy. And I stink,” she said, still smiling, wrinkling her nose.  
  
Franky looked her up and down. She was quite dirty. And a bit ripe. But there wasn’t anything about Erica’s smells, tastes, anything that Franky didn’t absolutely love. Hadn’t missed the hell out of over the past week and a half. She craved the feeling of Erica’s skin under her fingers, her taste on the tongue. “Come here, golden girl. Let me be the judge of that.”  
  
Erica restarted her slow approach, but as soon as she was within reach, Franky pulled her in swiftly, wrapping both arms tightly around her, breathing in deeply of her raunchiness.  
  
“Mmmmmm.” She exhaled, reveling in the feel of Erica’s body, her full breasts, the firm muscles in her lower back, the tight waist. “You smell delicious, Miss Davidson.” She kissed her neck.  
  
Erica laughed softly. “You’re deranged, Franky Doyle,” she said, pulling back so she could look in her eyes. There was still a shadow there. But Erica was too happy to see her lover to get caught. Instead she savored the moment. “Fancy a kiss? I guarantee I taste worse than I smell.”  
  
Franky’s thousand watt smile reappeared. Erica realized she hadn’t seen much of that since they found out about the twins. Franky leaned in and Erica met her half way, dropping her rucksack behind her as she wrapped both arms around Franky’s neck, letting herself be pulled fully against her lover’s body, and immersed in a deep, passionate, probing kiss.  
  
It was several seconds before they heard the girls of Hunter Home cheering them on. Erica stopped the kiss, appropriately abashed. Franky looked over Erica’s shoulder at the group and gave them two thumbs up.  
  
“Good on ya for bringing my girl home safely, ladies!” She called, as she opened the car door and helped Erica into the passenger seat. She chucked the rucksack into the boot, and scooted into the drivers side. “God I missed you, Erica,” Franky said seriously, but still smiling.  
  
“I missed you too, baby. Take me home. Let’s take a shower. I haven’t had a decent wash since I left.”  
  
An image of scrubbing Erica’s naked body flashed in Franky’s brain, and she pressed the pedal to the medal.  
  
******************************  
  
They had scrubbed Erica everywhere. Twice. And made slow, sweet, gentle love in the shower, spending so long under the spray that their fingers and toes pruned. Then Franky cooked dinner — although they had to eat from paper plates. Erica looked in the cabinet where their dinnerware used to be, then at Franky. Franky just shrugged. Erica decided to pursue it later.  
  
Now they lay together on the lounge in their favorite resting pose, Erica in front between Franky’s legs, her back snuggled to Franky’s chest. Franky kissed Erica’s hair, took another sip of wine, and exhaled.  
  
They had been sitting in companionable silence after going over Erica’s trek in detail, with Franky finally agreeing that she did not need to bust X’s arse. To the contrary — maybe it was time to lighten up on the girl. Maybe Franky could come back for another lecture.  
  
Erica turned sideways in Franky’s lap so she could see her face. “Franky. I want to apologize for how I was before I left.”  
  
Franky closed her eyes, scrunching her brow with a pained look. _Already this. Damn_. She exhaled, steeled herself. Opened her eyes. “It’s not you, Erica. That was my fault.”  
  
“What do you mean, Franky? How can you take responsibility for my behavior? I don’t know what got into me. Maybe hormones. I don’t know. I just felt so tight. Hard and sharp.” She put her wine glass half full of sparkling cider down and snuggled against Franky’s chest. “I’m sorry, baby. But I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”  
  
Franky stroked Erica’s hair, then put her own glass down. Not sparkling cider. She took another deep breath. “I need you to listen to me very carefully, Erica,” she said, trying to keep her voice from quaking. It was time to do this. _Please don’t leave. Just don’t leave._ “What you said about how things are between us is spot on. When we are together in the kink, everything works.” She exhaled carefully. “What frightens me, Erica, particularly now, with you pregnant…” She paused.  
  
Erica sat up and met Franky’s gaze. It was… vulnerable? Scared? _What the fuck is going on?_ “What is it, Franky?”  
  
“I’m not a good person sometimes, Erica. You know why I went to prison. You saw me in there, how I was. What I can do. Violence is a part of who I am.”  
  
Erica nodded slowly, very unsure where this was going. Surely Franky didn’t believe that she could actually hurt anyone she cared about.  
  
“I killed Meg Jackson.”  
  
Erica blinked. _What?_ This was the absolute last thing she could have imagined coming out of Franky’s mouth. “I’m sorry?” She said, not sure she heard that right; definitely did not understand.  
  
Franky looked down at her fingernails. Picked at a bit of a hangnail. “It was an accident.”  
  
Erica went very still. _Franky killed someone? How… What…_ Erica cleared her throat. “What happened?”  
  
“It was during the riot. I found a shiv on the floor, and picked it up. And then she was on me, grabbing my shoulder. I didn’t even think.”  
  
“You thought it was Jacs,” Erica said, quickly connecting the dots. It all seemed very clear to her. She could see the course of events in her head. She was there when the riot happened, when Meg Jackson was found dead in a corridor, that shiv sticking out of her chest.  
  
Franky looked up from her fingernails, caught in Erica’s gaze. She couldn’t read her. “Yes,” she whispered.  
  
Erica closed her eyes, imagining Franky wild and afraid in the middle of that riot. She knew her partner’s bravado was mostly real, that in most situations, Franky Doyle could take care of herself. But the danger posed by Jacs was very real in her time at Wentworth. If Jacs could have had Franky killed, she would have. And she had tried. Erica knew that too. Hell, part of what attracted Erica to the prison work was the proximity to violence. It excited her.  
  
It was part of what attracted her to Franky as well.  
  
Erica opened her eyes and looked down at Franky’s hands, trying to identify the riot of emotion running through both of them at the moment. Her heart was racing. The thought of her lover in that kind of danger pained her immensely. The image of Franky’s beaten face, burnt hand… _Why was Franky telling her this now? What did she think Erica was going to do with it? Be angry? Disappointed? For trying to stay alive?_ She took those hands in her own, kissed the palms. “Jacs was a real threat to you, tried to kill you more than once, Franky.”  
  
“Yes, but I didn’t kill Jacs. I killed…”  
  
Erica stopped the next words with a kiss. “Who else knows about this?” She whispered, her mouth only centimeters from Franky’s. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel sad about Meg Jackson’s death. She had liked Meg. And her husband, Will, had been devastated. Until he found out Meg had been pregnant with another man’s child. But that was all behind them. Wentworth was behind them.  
  
“Gidget. I told Gidge during one of my counseling sessions at Wentworth.” Erica kissed her again. “And Liz. She saw it.”  
  
Erica slid from Franky’s lap onto the floor, circling Franky’s waist with her arms as she knelt between firm thighs, pressing her face to Franky’s stomach. She kissed her there and held on tightly. This was a lot for Franky to have been carrying by herself — even with the support from Bridget Westfall. To have this unspoken between them, and Erica constantly begging to be beaten, whipped, while Franky had this on her conscience. “It was the middle of a riot, baby. And it was an accident. I might have done the same thing.”  
  
Franky put her hands on either side of Erica’s face, forcing their eyes to meet. “No. No you wouldn’t have killed anyone, Erica. I am unpredictable. And dangerous — even when I’m not in the middle of a riot. There was no riot in the kitchen when I chucked that pan full of boiling oil.”  
  
Erica lifted up Franky’s tank and kissed her bare skin. “When you’re under attack, and provoked, you are dangerous,” Erica said against Franky’s skin where she continued to press soft kisses across the firm belly. _My dangerous girl,_ Erica thought. She was aroused. Inappropriately aroused, but couldn’t help it. She loved angry Franky, could not resist dominatrix Franky. But seeing angry Franky, truly violent Franky, fighting — either with her words or her fists, like she had many times at Wentworth, sent Erica’s pulse to the moon, made her hot, wet. She wasn’t sure this was something Franky needed to know about her in this moment. If ever. “We love each other, Franky,” she said against the smooth skin of her belly. “There will never be a situation where you would feel danger from me, with me. Never.” _Oh god, Francesca Nicole, please get past this. I love you so much. All of you. This too. Please, Franky._  
  
Franky again forced Erica to meet her gaze. “Are you hearing me? I am not…” she trailed off as she stared into Erica’s eyes, not quite believing what she saw there. _This can’t be…_ Erica blushed, closing her eyes and pulling her face from Franky’s hands. _She fucking likes this about me. The violence. Wetting her knickers right now. Oh sweet baby jesus… Keeping her. Keeping her. Sooooooooooo keeping her. Miss Davidson, you are so much naughtier than I thought…_  
  
Erica pushed her face back against Franky’s stomach, licking, kissing, nipping the soft skin there, grabbing the back of Franky’s sweatpants and tugging down. Franky obligingly lifted her hips. Erica slid the sweatpants completely off of Franky’s legs kissing the inside of one thigh, then the other.  
  
Franky lay back against the lounge, trying to gather her thoughts, which were scattering to the winds as Erica's lips made their way up Franky’s thighs. _She’s okay with this. She’s better than okay with this. Should I be worried about that? Maybe I should try trusting her, like she does me. Wait, what does…_ And then she lost the ability to connect the dots as Erica’s lips closed around her clit, flicking it lightly with her tongue.  
  
“Fuck!” Franky tangled one hand in Erica’s hair. “Erica…”  
  
“Shhhhh,” Erica continued to lick and suck Franky’s inner and outer lips, then dipped her tongue inside, reveling in the sweet flavor of her lover. “Mmmmmm,” Erica could never have enough of Franky. Ever.  
  
Franky answered Erica’s moan with one of her own, her hips starting to meet the rhythm set by Erica’s tongue and lips. Erica lifted one of Franky’s thighs over her shoulder and pushed the other one out further, spreading Franky wider underneath her mouth. She slipped two fingers inside and focused her mouth on Franky’s clit, sliding those fingers in and out gently, but methodically. Franky wasn’t big on penetration. Two fingers went a long way for her. Erica used them well, an expert at pleasuring her lover by now.  
  
“Oh god…” Franky rasped, her hips now bucking against Erica’s mouth. “Erica…” She was close to coming in her lover’s mouth. One of her favorite things to do. “Harder.”  
  
Erica did as she was told, working with her lips and tongue. As Franky’s rhythm started to get erratic, Erica knew it was time. She twisted the fingers and flicked Franky’s clit with her tongue repeatedly, sending her lover over the edge.  
  
“AhhhhhhFUCK!” Franky cried out as her entire body began to vibrate. Both hands clutched in Erica’s hair, she rode out the mind-blowing orgasm against her lover’s mouth, then fell back against the lounge, boneless.  
  
She was still trembling when Erica kissed her way up Franky’s body, pushing her flat down on the lounge and laying down fully on top of her. Erica kissed her, deeply. Franky clung to her, wrapping her legs around Erica’s waist, riding the aftershocks. She could still feel Erica’s lips on her, fingers in her.  
  
The kiss ended and Erica pulled back slightly, watching Franky. She licked her lips, arched an eyebrow. _Are we okay now?_  
  
Franky flipped them over and kissed Erica again. Then it was her turn to pull back, watch Erica. And think for a minute. Erica had derailed her earlier efforts to understand what had happened between them after Franky’s confession.  
  
What she felt was… peace. And raging desire. Her secret was out. She told her spouse that she had murdered someone. Confessed her fear of losing control. And then Erica had fucked her. Owned her. Righteously. They were, truly, inexorably, made for each other. Franky needed to follow her own advice to Erica. _Trust us._ Yes. Franky could do this. Erica could keep her in check, keep her balanced. They kept each other on an even keel. Without it, Franky’s need to dominate bled over into other parts of their lives where neither of them wanted it to be. Who was she to tell Erica not to go on a trek? She was healthy, not even showing — still even after the ten day expedition. Franky had become overbearing. Overprotective. Over compensating.  
  
And it was long past time for some righteous punishment for Miss Davidson.  
  
Erica waited patiently, seeing the wheels turning in Franky’s mind. Would she forgive herself? Could she trust what was between them? Her own impulses? Erica’s matching desires? _Please, baby. See us for the perfection we are. We are so, so good together. You told me that. Please believe it. Us. You._  
  
Franky leaned in slowly, her eyes never leaving Erica’s, until their lips met. It started out a gentle, loving exploration, but soon turned hard, possessive. Franky deepened it, letting herself go, taking Erica’s mouth roughly, in the way she’d been craving since they found out Erica was pregnant. When she started to hold herself back. To be careful.  
  
Erica moaned, her hands bunching the back of Franky’s tank, then sliding down to Franky’s bum, pressing their groins together. Hard. This was the Franky she wanted. Needed. Possessive, demanding Franky. She arched up against Franky’s torso, wrapping one leg around her lover’s, pressing her heated sex against the thigh there.  
  
Franky pulled out of the kiss, grinning wickedly at Erica’s wild, fevered, whimper in protest. “You are an extremely, extremely naughty girl, Erica Davidson. Go to the room. Cuff yourself. Pick out two toys. Only two, Erica.”  
  
Erica laughed, joy spilling from every pore. She leaned up and kissed Franky once, twice, three times, then scooted out from under her and practically sprinted into the bedroom. Franky followed, feeling free in a way she hadn’t expected. She peeled off her tank top and caught up with Erica at their treasure drawer. While Franky strapped on her favorite toy, Erica picked up the big whip. Franky shook her head in the negative. Erica picked up the flogger. Franky smiled. The paddle? Franky nodded in the affirmative, then went to turn down the doona.  
  
When she turned around to watch Erica undressing, she noticed that Erica had also placed the nipple clamps on the bed, next to the paddle and the flogger. One eyebrow went up.  
  
“What about ‘only two’ did you not understand, Erica?”  
  
Erica licked her lips and grinned laciviously, moving across the mattress on her knees. She placed her cuffed hands over the grappling hook hanging above the bed and waited.  
  
It was a set up command. Franky knew Erica could not pick only two toys. What was surprising was that Erica hadn’t selected four or five. This was their way of communicating how intense their kink would be at any given moment: how disobedient Erica was leading up to the encounter. _Maybe she doesn't want to push the limits just yet. That's okay. Very much okay._  
  
She moved around into Erica’s eyesight. Erica was smiling. Franky tried to stay in character. “Well, Miss Davidson. I can’t remember such bad behavior from you. What do you reckon?”  
  
“I have been so very bad, Mistress. How can I make it up to you?”  
  
“You don’t look very penitent, Miss Davidson.”  
  
Erica tried to pout, but couldn’t get the smile to go away. It was adorable. Franky chuckled, losing her composure. She sighed, took Erica’s face in her hands and kissed her until they were both breathless. Then she put on the nipple clamps. Erica sucked in her breath, biting her bottom lip. Franky tugged the chain connecting them. Erica inhaled sharply. No adorable smiling now.  
  
Franky moved to Erica’s backside, out of her eyesight, and stroked the pristine skin there from shoulders to buttocks, just light fingertips. It was an exquisite canvas, just begging for a Franky original. But she wasn’t using the whip today. They would have to have a very serious discussion about whether or not they were both comfortable with leaving marks on Erica’s skin during the pregnancy. But Franky had finally come to peace with the kinky playtime. They both needed it to stay balanced. And Erica would keep her in check.  
  
She picked up the flogger, holding one end in each hand, circling Erica, trying to decide where to begin. “Nothing in front, Miss Davidson. Agreed?”  
  
“Yes, Mistress.”  
  
Franky decided to focus on Erica’s upper back, saving her bum for the paddle. And other surprises. She pushed Erica’s long, blond hair over one shoulder, kissed the back of her neck sweetly, then started with a slow figure eight pattern, watching carefully for Erica’s breathing and that no skin was breaking. She increased the speed and impact of the flogger until Erica was panting. Her skin was a rosy red across her shoulder blades. Franky stopped, kissing the irritated skin. Erica moaned, dropping her chin to her chest.  
  
“Have you had enough, Miss Davidson?”  
  
“God no, Mistress. Please don’t stop.”  
  
Franky reached around and tugged the chain between Erica’s nipple clamps and she squeaked. Franky spun the paddle around in her hand like a gunslinger, then tagged Erica’s left buttcheek. Erica didn’t make a sound. The right. Then the left again. Franky continued to spank Erica, increasing the smacks in speed and pressure until that tight little arse was bright red and Erica was making a constant whimpering sound.  
  
She moved around to the front, kneeling in front of Erica. The tip of the dildo poked at Erica’s center.  
  
“Open your eyes.” Erica did. Her pupils were dilated, her jaw slack. She closed her mouth and licked her lips. Franky reached down with her hand, between Erica’s legs and gently massaged her clit. She threaded her other hand in the back of Erica’s hair, yanking slightly. “Come for me. Now, Erica,” she rasped against her lips, kissing her hard and deep while simultaneously tugging on the clit between her fingers.  
  
Erica’s body immediately began to shake as an explosion of juices covered Franky’s fingers. Franky continued to kiss her deeply, swallowing the exclamation from Erica’s lips and tongue. She pushed two fingers deep inside Erica while gently rubbing her clitoris with the heel of her hand, coaxing Erica through the orgasm. When Erica’s body finally came down, leaning heavily against Franky and the grappling hook, Franky released her from the cuffs.  
  
Erica wrapped her arms around Franky’s head and kissed her again, and again, and again, hungry for her, like they’d never kissed before. Like they hadn’t had sex in the shower only a few hours ago. Like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Her body still ached for missing Franky those ten days; for missing the play time over the past few weeks.  
  
Franky pulled them together down on top of the doona, Erica on top, as they continued to kiss deeply. The dildo still strapped to Franky’s middle rubbed obscenely along Erica’s center as she ground against the harness strapped to her lover. Franky finally ended the kiss with a firm grip on Erica’s neck, pushing her back. Erica’s breath rasped against the pressure of Franky’s hand on her throat.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Franky said quietly. “I’m not finished with you.” Erica licked her lips again, trapping her lower lip against her teeth as she waited for instruction. Franky placed the other hand on Erica’s arse. She gasped. It stung from the paddling. “Guess you get to ride this time, Miss Davidson,” she said, releasing her throat.  
  
Erica nodded, rising up enough to place the silicone toy between her legs, lowering herself slowly. When she was completely down on the hilt, Franky sat up, pressing kisses to Erica’s collarbone, breasts, nipples, sucking each one in turn, waiting for Erica to begin her own movement. As she did, Franky pulled out from under the pillow her final surprised for Erica, pushing the larger of their butt plugs into Erica’s backside.  
  
“Yeesssss, Franky…” Erica began moving in earnest.  
  
Later, much later,  they lay sleepily together, pondering that this was a memorable moment for them for obvious reasons. But also because it was the only time Franky, or Erica for that matter, fell asleep without taking off the dildo. There was an awkward, completely hysterical moment hours later when someone rolled over onto it, against it, and they both nearly jumped out of their skin trying to figure out who else was in bed with them. But once the harness and phallus were safely identified, and removed, they slept deeply, peacefully, arms, legs, lips tangled together, until late the next morning.


	8. The Bombs and the Devils

“I’m with her, Erica. She seems fine. I think just a concussion. Maybe some other stuff…” Stella lied. Franky was a mangled mess in the back of the ambo, unconscious. But she was alive. And breathing on her own. That’s all Erica needed to know right now. “She should be fine. Just meet us at hospital.” Stella rang off, pocketed her cell, and placed both hands on Franky’s face. _You better be right, damn you, Franks. Come on._ She kissed her sister’s forehead, coughed out a sob, but then steeled herself again.  
  
The heart monitor beeping slowed.  
  
“What the fuck is happening?” Stella demanded of the medics. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong with her?!”   
  
Then it flat-lined.   
  
The medics sprang into action, pushing Stella out of the way, firing up the paddles, cutting open Franky’s blouse.   
  
“Clear!”   
  
Franky’s chest lept under the electric surge.  
  
“Don’t you dare fucking die on me, Francesca Nicole! Don’t you dare!” Stella cried out, fully in tears now. “FRANKY!”  
  
The heart monitor continued to flat-line.  
  
“Erica is going to KILL YOU! FRANKY!” Stella sobbed.  
  
“Clear!” Franky’s chest surged again under the electric paddles. This time, the monitor beeped slowly but steadily.   
  
Her mobile rang. It was Erica again. She had to answer, but was in no condition to talk to Erica. To her relief, they pulled into hospital just at that moment. She pocketed the mobile and followed Franky’s stretcher into emergency surgery, as far as they would allow her to go into the corridor. She only progressed that far because she was in uniform. Tactical Response.  
  
She sat on the floor, her head in her hands, trying to breathe.  
  
An hour earlier, once again, Franky’s name and come up on 0-0-0, the emergency circuit. She had been run off the road, her red Audi spinning out of control on the M3, flipping several times before bursting into flames. For whatever reason, Franky had been ejected clear of the vehicle before it caught fire; but sent flying at high velocity, her body wrapping around a tree before falling, senseless, into the bush. Several witnesses had seen the deliberate attempts of a white van driven by a petite, hooded figure with dark glasses to run the red Audi off the highway. Clearly a Caucasian. Probably female. Someone had taken a photo of the license plate.   
  
A firm hand shook her shoulder. She looked up into Kerry Vincent’s blue eyes. Kerry pulled her up off the floor, into an embrace. “Dammit, Stel. We might have to lock her up just to keep her alive,” she tried the light approach.   
  
It worked in the moment for Stella. “Yeah. I think you’re right on, Kerry. That girl can’t stay away from a near death situation.”  
  
Kerry kissed Stella’s temple. She loved this kid, like her own daughter. Stella Dagostino was a hot mess in her personal life, and a hot-headed but solid cop. Fiercely loyal. And there was just something about her that got under Kerry’s skin. She hugged her tighter. “Have you talked to Erica?”  
  
“Yeah. I lied, though. Told her it was only a concussion.”  
  
“Probably for the best. She’ll find out soon enough. No need to send her screaming before she gets here.”  
  
“Leon find anything on the white van?”  
  
“Stolen this morning. It’s in police custody, checking for prints, evidence.”  
  
“Fuckall, Kerry. We have to find this prick. I should call Michael…” Stella pulled away from her boss, pulling her mobile out of her pocket.  
  
Kerry rolled her eyes. “DeMedici? I might as well hire her onto the team. She’s doing half of our work half the time anyway.”  
  
“Might not be a bad idea…” Stella hiccoughed, and dialed her lover.   
  
Just then, Erica burst into the hallway. “Stella! Where is she, Stel?”   
  
Stella re-pocketed her mobile. “She’s in surgery…”  
  
“You said she only had a concussion! Why is she in surgery?” Erica was starting to panic. She looked wild eyed between Stella and Kerry. “What is going on?”  
  
Stella approached her, took both hands in her own. “It’s hard to say right now, Erica. Let’s go sit down and wait for the surgeon to tell us what’s happening.”  
  
“I want to see her! Now!”  
  
“This isn’t going to help…”  
  
Erica’s brow furrowed, and she bent over. “Oh god…”  
  
“What is it?” Kerry was beside her now too.  
  
“Oh fuck. Cramp. I need an ob-gyn. Now. It’s too soon.”  
  
“Fuckall, Erica! You’re pregnant?” Stella was incredulous.  
  
‘It’s only 11 weeks. I want to see Franky? Owwww!” Erica went down on her knees.  
  
“We need some help here!” Kerry yelled. Two nurses came running, one with a wheelchair, helping Erica into it. “I’ll stay with Erica, you stay with Franky,” she directed Stella.   
  
Just then the surgeon came out. Kerry stopped Erica’s wheelchair. Erica was talking slow, deep gulps of air.   
  
“I’m fine. I think it’s fine. Just a cramp.”  
  
“That girl must have kryptonite in her bones,” the surgeon announced. “Small break to her left wrist and a pretty good concussion. But mostly just cuts and bruises — nice deep one to the femoral. She’ll need a lot of rest to rebuild the blood count..  We should keep her overnight for observation.”  
  
Kerry smiled, hooked an arm around Stella’s neck. Stella hugged her back. Erica burst into tears.   
  
Stella went to her. “She’s fine, Erica. She’s fine.” Erica, still seated in the wheelchair, clung to Stella’s waist. “We should get you checked out, then we can find Franky in recovery, right?”  
  
“I want to see her! I want to see for myself!” Erica was still desperate to put her hands on Franky, make sure she was all in one piece.  
  
Kerry backed away. “Take care of your girls, Stel. See you tomorrow. Or take a day, if you need it.” Then she turned and walked away. Almost running full bore into Michael deMedici at the entrance. They had had an intense, but short-lived affair. Kerry was pretty exclusively attracted to men. But Michael was hot as fuck. And the sex had been mind-blowing. Driving the Porsche never lost it’s appeal for Kerry. But she and Michael didn’t have much to talk about outside of active cases — Michael actually had a very keen intellect about things Kerry wasn’t supposed to talk with her about — and the sex.  
  
“Is she right? I can’t get anyone on the mobile!” Michael was in a rare state of disarray and agitation. “Where is she?”  
  
“Everyone is fine, deMedici,” Kerry said, standing close. Feeling the chemistry that was still between them. She unconsciously licked her lips.  
  
Hearing that Franky wasn’t in danger, Michael calmed and focused on Kerry. “Franky’s okay? You know I’m with Stella now.”  
  
Kerry blinked, shook her head. “No. I didn’t…” She stared into violet orbs, then looked away. “Look. Stel… She’s special to me. Like one of my own… kids.” She looked away down the corridor back from the way she came, lowering her voice as she turned back to Michael. “It’s best she doesn’t know…” Kerry gestured vaguely between the two of them.  
  
“Agreed,” Michael responded, quietly, smiling at Kerry’s discomfort. She had really enjoyed her time with the Inspector. But it was over. Done. “We both know it was all about the car anyway.”  
  
Kerry slapped Michael’s abdomen. “Straight back, second left. Stel and Erica might still be hyperventilating in the middle of the corridor.”  
  
Michael stifled the urge to deep kiss Inspector Kerry Vincent, head of Melbourne’s Tactical Response Team, in the middle of this hospital. Ruffle that steely reserve. Create some drama. It had been awhile since she’d been in the gossip columns or society pages. But she figured Stella might not see the humor. So she trapped Kerry’s hand against her belly, held it briefly, then walked away in the direction Kerry indicated.  
  
She rounded the corner and stopped briefly to survey the scene. Erica was pulling herself out of a wheelchair, Stella trying to convince her to stay in it. _What’s wrong with Erica? Franky’s going to freak the fuck out!_ She jogged over to the ensemble of nurses, her girlfriend, and her ex-girlfriend’s wife. “Erica, are you right? What’s happened? Where is Franky?” She reached out for Stella, who immediately clung to her, exhausted. She kissed her head.  
  
Erica was very glad to see Michael deMedici for a change. “Hello, Michael. I’m fine. Just a little cramping.” She slapped at the nurse’s hands, which were trying to coax her back into the chair.  
  
Stella spoke up. “She’s pregnant. Ten minutes ago she was on her knees in pain. She needs to be checked.”  
  
Michael’s grip on Stella tightened briefly. Stella looked up at her, puzzled. “Sounds like a plan, Erica. What’s the problem?” Her eyebrow arched high. She stayed focused on the moment, filing away the anxiety and jealousy that had immediately spiked for her in response to this news for later reflection. Franky would be tossed if Erica was hurt in anyway. “I’m sure Franky won’t fancy coming out of recovery to you in a bed in the next room. Let’s just give it a once-over, Erica. Aye?”  
  
Erica surprised everyone, including herself, by nodding obediently and sitting back in the chair.   
  
Michael kissed Stella. “You right, Stel?”  
  
Stella was far from right. She had seen her sister flatline less than an hour ago. Someone had nearly killed Franky. Deliberately. She put her head on Michael’s chest, holding the front of her jacket for a few seconds, then took a deep breath. “Oi. I’ll stay with Erica. You get us into Franky’s room, yeah?”  
  
Michael kissed her again, lingering a bit. Stella was really shaken. _What the fuck has been happening in here? Why didn’t I know Erica was pregnant?_ “Yeah. I’ll text you the room when I find it. See you soon.” She kissed her again, and turned to find recovery.  
  
***************************************  
  
Franky’s head felt like there was an ice pick in it. She knew she was in hospital. Again. She tried to open her eyes. The light creeping in between her eyelids made the ice pick twist, deepen. “Oi, fuckall!” She rasped.  
  
Immediately she felt familiar hands on her face, lips on her forehead. Erica’s perfume.   
  
“Hey, baby. Head hurt much?”  
  
“Yeah. Can’t open my eyes. Killing me.” She reached a hand up towards where she imagined Erica’s face was. The hand was heavy. Erica’s fingers tangled in hers, but blocked by something. A cast? “What happened?”   
  
Erica leaned in and kissed her spouse, lingering, reveling in their magic chemistry, even in Franky’s weakened state she could feel it. “Mmmmm. I want to lay down with you, ok?”  
  
Franky smiled, her eyes still closed. “Miss Davidson. Haven’t we had this discussion?” Her brow furrowed. Pain arced across her forehead again. She felt the familiar body press against her full length, settling in the crook of her arm, a slight protrusion pressing against her waist. She smiled in spite of the pain, but then frowned. She’s showing? How long have I been out?  
  
The doctor arrived at that moment. “Erm,” she started, looking Erica from head to toe. “Unusual but not illegal. How are you feeling, Ms. Davidson-Doyle?”  
  
“Killer headache.”  
  
The doctor adjusted a machine connected to Franky’s iv, adding a bag of clear liquid. “Well, we’ve got some killer pain meds for you. Did anyone tell you what happened?”  
  
“Just woke up.”  
  
“You have a severe concussion and broken left wrist. And you flatlined in the ambo on the way in. We’d like to keep you for another day, just to make sure we didn’t miss anything. And to keep an eye on that skull.”  
  
“Why would I flat-line from a concussion and a broken wrist?”  
  
“Blood. The headache is distracting you, but you have a hell of a gash in your right thigh — nicked the femoral artery. You almost bled out. Lucky for you, you have an identical twin who was more than willing to part with a good deal of her blood supply for you. You should recover a bit more quickly than most.”  
  
Franky exhaled harshly. Erica inhaled shakily.  
  
“The meds should kick in any minute now. You really just need to rest. Call me if you have any other questions.”  
  
“Thanks, doc.”  
  
Erica wrapped herself tightly around Franky. Squeezing their bodies together, mindful of the gash in Franky’s thigh.   
  
Franky stroked Erica’s side, stretching to reach the slightly protruding belly. Franky knew there was a lot to talk about, but she was exhausted. The meds were starting to kick in. “How long have I been out?”   
  
“Several hours?”  
  
“You started showing in the last several hours? I can feel you belly bigger.”  
  
“It’s been a couple of days. You just haven’t noticed. I need to get some maternity clothes…” Her breath hitched. “You almost died, Franky,” she whispered.  
  
“But I didn’t.” She wanted to turn over, press Erica down into the bed. Kiss her deeply. _Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last, babe._ Her thigh wound was starting to make itself known, and she decided not to move too much. “Kiss me.” Erica did, and Franky held her head firmly, their mouths together securely, for a long while. Until Erica’s breathing became erratic, but from arousal rather than anxiety.  
  
“Stop,” Erica breathed against her mouth.  
  
“I bet you’ve never been fucked in hospital, Miss Davidson.”  
  
Erica chuckled. Franky had a one track mind. “True. And it’s not likely to happen now.” She kissed her again, reveling in the feel of Franky alive in her arms.  
  
“Jesus H.” Stella called from the doorway grinning, then entered, Michael trailing behind her. “Not sorry to interrupt.” She gingerly pulled on the fingers protruding from Franky’s cast, kissed them. “Franks.” Her face crumpled, the facade of good natured joking dropped. She pressed Franky’s fingers to her lips again, then let go of her hand. “Sorry,” she said, rubbing her face, taking a deep breath. “I was in the ambo with you. It was… not okay, Franks.”  
  
Erica removed herself from the bed, freeing up Franky’s un-plastered hand. Although it still held the iv. Franky reached out for her sister. “I’m sorry, Stel.”  
  
“Hah!” She sobbed out, her eyes tearing. “Not ready to lose you, Franky.”  
  
“Me either.” Franky smiled at her. Then she focused on Michael deMedici.  
  
Michael looked at her for only a few seconds, then turned and left the room. Franky had seen the tears coming. This had been serious, if deMedici was losing it. Stella started to go after her but Franky held her. “Give her a minute,” she said quietly. “Do we know anything about who? Why?”  
  
Stella focused back on Franky’s face. “Nothing. The van that ran you down was stolen. No fingerprint evidence other than the owner and obvious associates. None of whom match the description of the driver.” She took a deep breath, looked at Erica. Then back at Franky. “Do you have any ideas of why anyone would want you dead, Franky?”  
  
Erica laughed harshly. “You mean aside from the string of broken hearts she’s left in her wake? As well as the unrequited loves?”  
  
Michael re-entered at that moment, and went to Stella, placing a possessive hand on the back of her neck. She was completely composed, nearly Ice Queen-ish. Stella unconsciously leaned back into the touch.  
  
“Nothing,” Franky said sleepily. The meds were kicking in hard. “I haven’t even flirted with anyone since I got out of Wentworth. ‘Cept Erica…” She looked up at her lover goofily and rubbed her belly. “She’s having my babies.”  
  
“Babies?” Michael stiffened again.  
  
Erica looked up at deMedici and Stella. “Twins. We’re having twins,” her smile was blinding. Stella grinned too, went to Erica and hugged her, hard. “Congrats, sister-in-law! I can’t wait to be the favorite Auntie!”  
  
Michael looked at Franky, whose eyes were now closed. Then she approached Stella and Erica, encircling them both with her long arms. “That’s right. Congratulations to you two. Can’t wait to be an Auntie.”   
  
Erica looked up at Michael, who would not meet her eye. She frowned. Franky was asleep. “What are we going to do about finding whoever is trying to kill her?” She demanded.  
  
Michael looked at her finally. “I’ll figure it out. I’ve got my guy on it.”  
  
“I trust that you do,” Erica said, softly. So far, Michael deMedici had been the one constant factor in keeping Franky alive throughout all of their trials over the past couple of years. Even when it seemed like Michael deMedici was a pain in he ass, she was always, without fail, putting her best resources behind protecting Franky, and by proximity, Erica. She was the only one Erica really trusted to get it right.  
  
Michael focused on Stella. “We need to talk. Why don’t we go home, give them some space?”   
  
Stella nodded, blew a kiss to her sister and sister-in-law. “Call me if you need anything, Erica. Anything at all. I’m taking tomorrow off. And if she remembers anything…”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Stella and Michael exited the room. Immediately outside, Michael pushed Stella up against the wall, kissing her hungrily. “I want you, Stel. No more games.”  
  
They hadn’t had sex yet, amazingly. “Yes,” Stella said, returning the feverish kisses. Unsure whether this was the right course of action emotionally with Michael, but so burned and exhausted by Franky’s ordeal that she needed the intimacy. Needed to affirm her life. Michael’s. “Let’s go.”  
  
*********************************  
  
Stella and Michael tooled along in the Porsche originally purchased for Franky. Michael’s hand rested possessively on Stella’s thigh as she took the corners at high speed, driving the Porsche as it was intended to be driven.  
  
“Go by the St. Kilda flat first,” Michael purred, looking at Stella, pure lust in her eyes.  
  
Stella’s foot slipped off the accelerator, she was so captured by Michael’s  gaze. “What?”  
  
“Let’s drive by their flat. Just a drive by. Then we’ll go to the loft. Or your place. Whichever you prefer, Stella D.”  
  
“Okay,” Stella said, stealing another glance at Michael, and nearly wrecking the car as a result. Michael was on fire.  
  
Stella quickly maneuvered them through traffic to Erica’s flat. They pulled up in front. Michael got out of the car. “I’m going to walk around.”  
  
“Let’s do it together.” Stella joined Michael as they walked along the sidewalk in front of the building. “I’m going to go around back. You want to go up and check inside?” She produced a key and handed it to Michael.  
  
Michael reached the 10th floor a few minutes later, and opened the door to Erica and Franky’s home. It was strange to be there without them. She looked at the pictures of them together throughout the flat as she walked through, looking for signs of disturbance. It was a nice place. Franky and Erica were a stunning couple. Clearly, completely happy together. They had started setting up the babies’ room. Michael looked briefly, bared her teeth, then went to the lanai to see if Stella had found anything.  
  
Stella was sprinting down the beach after a slight, hooded figure. Michael stopped her jealous musings and rushed down to help Stella on the beach. As the elevator reached the lobby of Erica’s building, and Michael exited it heading toward the front door, an explosion ripped through the space behind her, knocking her unconscious amidst a pile of rubble.


	9. We Might Still Have Time

“I want some fucking answers, JC, now! Or I’ll find someone else to get this done.” Michael mashed the ‘end call’ button on her mobile and chucked it across the room . She was home alone, nursing a bit of a headache and a massive contusion on her left thigh. A beautiful, deep purple mark that hurt enough to make her limp. She’d come out of the blast with a couple of nicks and scrapes, no serious injuries. But she still had no idea what was going on, who was targeting Franky. Or was it Erica this time? The bomb that took out the lobby of the St. Kilda flat had come swiftly on the heels of Franky’s car accident. Was there more than one person involved?  
  
And her usually reliable PI wasn’t finding any useful information. Whoever was doing this was either completely random, in which case, this was a clusterfuck of masterful proportions. Or someone very close to them, which would mean both Michael was misreading people _and_ fucking JC wasn’t on top of his game. _Fuck!_ She couldn’t remember feeling this out of control of her own life. Or other peoples’ when she wanted to be. She didn’t like it. At all. It was possible that Franky and Erica had some friends Michael didn’t know about it. Unlikely, though. Michael kept full, continually updated dossiers on them both. Not to be nosy, but Franky was a fucking trouble magnet. It kept them safe.  
  
The car accident and the explosion seemed a bit over the head of a wayward teen, so Michael had dismissed the girls from Hunter Home out of hand. That left FemLaw staff, or someone from the family; Erica’s social circle remained extensive, but she didn’t circulate in the same way she had with Mark; the Davidson clan, who were about as pedestrian and milquetoast as could be; and now their impending parenthood. And, of course, Stella Dagostino.  
  
Could this be about Stella? She had to have no end of random angry psychopaths plotting against her or members of the TRT. But the attacks were escalating, quickly; and so far exclusively focused on Franky Doyle.  
  
The explosion had occurred yesterday. Stella had spent the night with her, but was on patrol today. They hadn’t talked much as Michael had been a bit fuzzy after regaining consciousness. And TRT didn’t have much information to go on. The figure Stella had been chasing down the beach was abandoned and lost when she heard the explosion, and came back to assist in the aftermath. Michael needed answers but was a wits’ end with this.  
  
_Time to move on to the next order of business that I actually can handle._  
  
“Doyle.”  
  
“DeMedici.”  
  
“How you going today?”  
  
“Leg hurts like a motherfucker. But the stabbing pain in my head doesn’t make me want to vomit anymore.”  
  
Michael took a deep breath. How was it that she was unable to protect her best mate? This was just not acceptable.  
  
“What happened to you, Michael? What were you doing round the flat?”  
  
Michael ignored the question. “I want you and Erica to come stay at the penthouse. With me. Papa and Elena are in Rome for the foreseeable future.” Michael’s father, after her mother, had abandoned the continent when the social stigma of his association with Allesandro Ricci, convicted murderer, had become too much to overcome. At least in the short term. Her brothers — Nini (short for Giannini, or little Gianni), Franco, Paolo and Stefano, were managing deMedici Law. “The boys never stay there.”  
  
“We had planned to stay with Erica’s parents,” Franky said, slowly. But she knew immediately that Michael’s suggestion made the most sense. It was talking Erica into it that was going to be uphill work.  
  
“Remind her that until we figure out who this is, anyone around you can be in danger as well. The penthouse is like a stronghold, plus we have a safe room there. We have security in the building at all times. I can add an extra man on the floor.” She listened to Franky breathing. “I know it’s going to be a little scary for her to get used to. But you’ll be comfortable. And you can come and go as you please. As long as you take a bodyguard.”  
  
“Fuckall, deMedici.”  
  
“You know I’m right.”  She waited. There was no response. “When are you being released?”  
  
“This afternoon.”  
  
“I’ll send a car round. Do not drive yourself, or let Erica drive you. I’ll send someone to get your car from the hospital later.”  
  
Franky sighed heavily. “Thank you, Michael.”  
  
Michael felt an unexpected hitch in her chest and was puzzled to find herself tearing up. “I love you, Doyle. I’d rather you stayed alive.”  
  
“Ahhhhh, riiiiight, Michael,” Franky sighed. “You know she heard that. Getting in line with the other arseholes trying to kill me, are you?” She lowered her voice, comically, as if Erica wouldn’t hear this. “Love you, too. Now you’re going to get us both stabbed in the…” _Toss it! What, Erica! What am I supposed to say?!_ “Ta, you motherfucker,” Franky said into the mobile while continuing to argue with her spouse.  
  
Michael chuckled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Ciao, motherfucker.”  
  
*********************************  
  
Franky and Erica were in Michael’s town car, headed for St. Kilda. Their building had been declared structurally unstable to live in for the time being, but they were allowed in for up to 30 minutes a day to retrieve personal belongings. The elevator was a no-go, though, making it impossible for Franky to get up to the flat without being physically carried up the stairs.  
  
Intellectually Erica knew they were likely safest staying at the deMedici fortress. What she had finally understood in these last couple of days, when she had realized that Michael was probably the only person who could keep Franky alive, was that she, Erica Davidson, was intimidated by the woman.  
  
Erica had grown up with her own set of privileges - healthy, wealthy, not too hard on the eyes. She was used to getting what she wanted. She had never expected that an ex-con with a history of violence would be one of them. One of the things she wanted. Franky was still rather wild, had a frenetic energy about her. She thrilled to a challenge, a fight. She liked the carnage. Erica worked to keep Franky entertained, focused. But she thought her only true arsenal with Franky was her own body and her spouse’s affinity for disciplining her. She was sure that was about the only edge she had on Michael deMedici at this point. Franky had found Erica first. And Michael, coming into the picture afterward, clearly was not submissive. If Franky needed to be a dom, she would need a sub.  
  
But what complicated the equation in Erica’s mind was that her family’s scant millions didn’t hold a candle to the deMedici’s multi-billion dollar holdings, and what tantalizing distractions that type of wealth could afford. She knew how that world appeared from the outside. It scared her — the unfettered access to anything, everything, all the time. That was a different class of people that played by entirely different rules. Michael could buy Franky a thousand submissives. And now, she and Franky were headed straight into the lion’s den.  
  
Franky had seemed to thrive in that milieu as a deMedici Law staff barrister and key associate for Michael, keeping up with the bright lights and big city intrigue; with deMedici social circles. Franky had described to her a little bit about the parties they’d attended, the clubs they had spent all hours at, dancing till dawn. Places Erica had never even heard of before. And she was clear that Franky left out a lot. Of. Detail. About what she and Michael did together.  
  
Then, for whatever reason, Franky had settled down readily into their life together. She had changed since Erica had known her in Wentworth. Matured. She wasn’t so — messy. Provocative. Angry. _And she loves me._ Erica smiled to herself, feeling empowered by that. But her thoughts turned to worry again swiftly. Franky was fantastic without too many distractions, with enough to do. Focused Franky was brilliant. Bored Franky was a delinquent troublemaker. Having the children would bring them even closer together, Erica was certain. _More of us for Franky to stay focused on._ If they could just get through the pregnancy without Michael deMedici luring Franky away. She had heard Michael on the phone in the hospital, declaring her love for Franky. Was that an, “I love you, best mate!” I love you; or an “I love you and I’m going to do everything possible to break up your marriage while I have you in my clutches,” I love you.  
  
_Son of a biscuit._  
  
“Penny for your thoughts?” Franky asked, interlacing their fingers.  
  
“I’m thinking that I hope I don’t go into labor walking up ten flights of stairs.” And already she was lying to her partner. _Fuck._  
  
Franky frowned. “You know, we don’t need to do this. We can send someone else in — like Car, your assistant?”  
  
Erica laughed at the thought. “I definitely don’t want anyone that I know going through our knickers, baby.” She leaned over and kissed Franky. “I was kidding. I’ll be completely fine. I’m in great shape from all the fantastic sex we have.” She kissed her again, lingering.  
  
Franky ended the kiss sooner than Erica would have liked. “Michael has a great personal assistant who is extremely discreet, as you can imagine…”  
  
“Oh _hell_ no!” Erica shot back, quickly, irritated. “We already owe her enough. And imagine if she gets wind of our toy collection.” She reached for the car door even as the chauffeur arrived to open it for her. She wasn’t used to that.  
  
Franky held her back with their interlaced fingers, placing the other hand along Erica’s jaw, forcing eye contact. “You’re deflecting. And lying. What’s going on in there?”  
  
_Shit._ Erica closed her eyes. Exhaled. “The usual.” She said simply. Franky’s hand dropped from her face.  
  
“For fucks sake, Erica!” She pressed the heels of both hands against her eyes, leaning back into the leather interior, away from her spouse. “Just get our stuff. Jesus.”  
  
Erica scrambled out of the limo and went to the front of the building, showing her identification to the desk manager and signing in. She had time to think as she climbed the stairs. _Just throw her at Michael, why don’t you, you idiot!_  
  
She rubbed her belly at floor five, wondering what the babies were doing in there. They seemed to be growing bigger every day. I mean, of course they were, but it seemed like she could feel them, her skin stretching, her bladder being mashed. She was more than 12 weeks but hadn’t yet felt them move. And she was hungry all the time, thankfully not gaining much more than baby weight. From the back you couldn’t even tell she was pregnant. Yet. But that was unlikely to last much longer, with twins. _Sure. Get fat and even more petty and annoying and see how fast she goes from our bed to Michael’s. Hell, I would. Okay, no, I wouldn’t._ She wondered if Michael had a personal chef. _Probably._ Her mobile pinged. It was a text from Franky.  
  
_If I could walk those stairs with this thigh wound, I would come up there and spank you._  
  
Erica smiled, and started to compose a text back, when another came through.  
  
_Please get my long sleeved KMFDM tee. And jammy pants. And that almost invisible sexy lace green bra and knickers of yours._  
  
Erica stopped moving. Franky would not possibly be up for sex tonight, would she?  
  
_Lots of sexy knickers for you. And the paddle. Whip. Clamps. Plugs. Cuffs. Restraints._  
  
She ran the rest of the way to the flat and returned to the limo with several minutes to spare, breathing rather hard. “I’m sorry for being such a prick,” she said as she slid back into the car next to her partner.  
  
“You’re not a prick. But be careful around deMedici. She smells a weakness, she’ll exploit it just to needle you. And she’s brilliant at spotting the weakness. You’ve seen her in court.”  
  
“Right,” Erica frowned. “Why? Why would she do that with me or you if there wasn’t some intention behind it?”  
  
“It’s what she does. And it’s so fucking easy with you. Just try to follow my lead, will you? Otherwise you’re going to set yourself up. She’ll make you feel like a lunatic.”  
  
“Great.”  
  
“It’s just a game to her. But remember. She was never actually in love with me, baby. And I wasn’t in love with her.”

They rode awhile in silence, until they were downtown. Then Erica added another thought.  
  
“Honey, you constantly underestimate the effect you have on…”  
  
“Porsche notwithstanding, we rarely spent social time together," Franky interrupted her. She didn't like thinking about Michael actually being in love with her. That maybe she had really deeply wounded the woman with rejection. But there wasn't any other way that was going to play out. She wanted to stop talking about it. "I only met a couple of her friends. Never met her family. I met your family before I even started dating you.” The limo stopped inside the garage at the deMedici Law building. The chauffeur led them to the penthouse elevator, handed Franky a key fob, and told them he would be up shortly with their things. “That kind of shit matters to me.” The elevator doors closed and she pulled Erica close, sussing whether she was up to mashing her partner against the wall. Her thigh burned where the gash and stitches were. It was really uncomfortable to stand on it for very long. She kissed her partner deeply. “And she could never,” another kiss. “Ever.” A third, scorching kiss. ”Do what you do to me when we’re fucking.” This time Franky did turn her around and press her uninjured thigh between Erica’s legs.  
  
Erica sighed, tangling her fingers in Franky’s hair. When the elevator doors opened, she didn’t even notice. Until she heard a throat clearing, knew it wasn’t her or Franky, so she opened one eye. Over Franky’s shoulder she could see Michael deMedici looking at them. Seemingly quite unimpressed. She pushed Franky off of her and smiled at her host. “Michael.”  
  
“Erica,” Michael said, evenly.  
  
_Never in love with you my ass!_  
  
Franky finally turned around to face her mate. “DeMedici.”  
  
“Doyle.” Michael turned her back to them and headed across the foyer toward the bar area of the very large, very formal lounge. Franky surely remembered the set up. “Since you know your way around, Doyle, I’ll let you pick a suite to settle in. Dinner will be served at 8, if you’re interested.”  
  
Erica tried not to swallow her tongue. The place was fantastic. And the view. Sweet Jesus. _Wait, why would Franky know her way around?_ “Ummm…” Franky tugged the back of her hair and she clamped her lips together.  
  
“Why would I know my way around, deMedici? I’ve been here exactly once. For dinner. Don’t go winding up my pregnant partner, you arsehole!”  
  
Michael poured herself a few fingers of scotch into a crystal tumbler. She looked up after taking a sip, grinned wickedly at Erica and winked. “Touché,” she said, still focused on Erica, whose arm was about Franky’s waist. Franky was leaning heavily on her. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get some snacks, we can talk about the house.” She headed toward the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a chair, Doyle?”  
  
“Yeah. But I want a cane. Much cooler looking than a wheelchair, don’t you think? Plus, it would drive me nuts,” she called after Michael, planting a kiss on Erica’s palm after she was seated on the lounge.  
  
Michael quickly returned from the kitchen with three champagne flutes and nothing else. The servant behind her held a tray with elaborate hors d’ouevres and two bottles of bubbly.  
  
_Getting things means beckoning a servant bring them to you,_ Erica noted wryly. _What a fucking life. But wait… we had a housekeeper… E_ rica resolved herself to paying close attention to the differences between her social class and Michael’s. Maybe there were some clues there that could help her keep Franky focused.  
  
Michael handed them each a glass and sat down across. “And I thought we might celebrate your not getting killed. Again. And your soon to be expanded family.” She nodded at both Erica and Franky. “I have sparkling cider as well as champagne, Erica, if you aren’t drinking.”  
  
Erica was starving, eyeing the bacon-wrapped scallops. And fruit — kiwi, papaya, mango. Franky reached for a slice of the mango and put it between her teeth, then turned to Erica. She blushed all the way to her hairline. As much as she wanted that particular piece of mango, she wasn’t up for parlor tricks in the penthouse quite yet.  
  
“I’m well into my 13th week, and the doctor said that a glass of wine with dinner after the 12th week shouldn’t pose any problems. But since there are two in there, I’m thinking they might need a little more development time. It’s very considerate of you to think of me though, Michael. Thank you.” The servant poured cider for Erica.  
  
Franky pulled Erica’s flute over near her mouth and bit the piece of fruit in half, letting the rest fall into Erica’s drink. “DeMedici. Forgot to tell you. We ran into Erica’s ex in the market last week.”  
  
Michael went eerily still. She cocked her head to the side. Stood up to find her glass of scotch, then returned to the lounge. “What? You mean Pearson?” She focused on Erica.  
  
“Yes. He’s married to a lovely girl named Jenna. They’re pregnant too.”  
  
“Looks exactly like Erica,” Franky sniggered.  
  
“What the actual fuck…” Michael said quietly, her gaze turned inward. She directed her attention back to her mates. “How long have they been here?”  
  
“I think he said two months?” Erica looked at Franky, one eyebrow up.  
  
“Sorry, deMedici,” Franky said, seriously.  
  
“Excuse me,” Michael said, her eyes were dark, her jaw clenched, as she walked away, ascending a set of stairs on the far side of the room. She took two at a time.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“I’m guessing her guy didn’t know about Mark being back in town. And he’s been here for months. She’s tossed.”  
  
Very soon they both heard Michael’s voice loud, heated, in a one sided conversation, but they couldn’t hear distinct words. “Go to the bottom of the stairs. See if you can catch anything she’s saying,” Franky nudged Erica.  
  
Erica knew this was rude, but she wanted to know what was going on too. She crept over.  
  
_For two fucking months, JC!_ _Two months!_ Then silence. _Yeah, fuck off. You’re fired._  
  
Erica heard some banging and crashing and started back toward Franky, when she heard a softer version of Michael’s voice. “She’s speaking in Italian. I don’t understand,” she stage whispered to Franky.  
  
Franky beckoned her back to the lounge. “What did she say when she was yelling?”  
  
“Two fucking months, JC. You’re fired.”  
  
“Hmmm. So she’s talking to her father now. We probably don’t want to know what that conversation is about.”  
  
“I honestly don’t care, Franky. As long as she can stop whomever is after you. I don’t care what she has to do.”  
  
“Let’s hope it’s that simple.”  
  
Michael came back down the stairs. “Look. I need to go out. There are three floors here. This floor is the main lounge, and there’s a library and a workout slash game room to the left. Kitchen to the right. Up one floor, a smaller lounge area, theater, Papa’s office, then six suites off the main hall. Four are very boy-mannish, obviously belonging to my brothers. Those are the four in the back. The two in the front are guest suites. Third floor is my room and the master suite. I’m thinking you’ll be most comfortable there.” She stopped to make sure her guests were clocking all of this. But then remembered one of them was Franky Doyle, who knew her well. “Stay in the master suite. The fob takes the elevator to the two upper floors as you shouldn’t be climbing the stairs at all, Franky.”  
  
She turned toward the elevator.  
  
“Will you be back for dinner?” Franky asked.  
  
“Don’t know, love.” She didn’t turn around. “Either way, just come down at eight. Let Maya know if you are okay eating in the kitchen. They don’t have to pull out the formal ware.”  
  
“Is that what you do?”  
  
“Usually. Yes.”  
  
Michael finally turned to face them as she entered the elevator. Her face was set hard, her eyes like ice.  
  
“Be careful, Michael,” Erica said. Meaning it.  
  
“I will.”  
  
******************************************  
  
Michael was at Tactical Response Headquarters sitting in Kerry Vincent’s office.  
  
“Technically, I can’t tell you any of this. Or maybe I need to put you on payroll as a special consultant. When do you finish your degree?” Kerry asked, watching Michael intensely.  
  
Michael was uncharacteristically slouched in the chair across from Kerry’s desk, her mood sour. She was tired, in pain, and extremely frustrated. “November.”  
  
“That’s only two months off. Congratulations, Michael.”  
  
“Not quite there yet. So the bomb was amateur but the placement expert? That doesn’t make any sense…”  
  
“Unless it’s a dumb luck amateur, which would be my guess. And you didn’t hear any of this from me.”  
  
“I know, I know. Thanks, Kerry. You’re a gem.”  
  
“Well, if you find anything, let me know, aye?” Kerry said, watching Michael stand gingerly, favoring one leg. “I didn’t realize you were hurt in the blast. What happened?”  
  
“Contusion. Thigh. It’ll be fine in a couple of weeks. Hurts like a motherfucker now, though.”  
  
“Sit back down. You want a drink? Didn’t they give you pain meds?”  
  
“Nah. Taking Stella’s bike — need to stay clear headed.”  
  
Kerry smiled at her. “Does Stel know you’re taking her bike? She doesn’t let anyone near that thing.”  
  
“She lets me,” Michael smiled back at her. “And of course she knows. You think I’m nicking a cop’s bike out of the HQ? Smarter than I look, Vincent.”  
  
“They should be here within half an hour. You want to wait? Let me check and see what’s up.” She exited the office and went out to talk to the Intelligence Officer, get status check on her team.  
  
Michael sat in Kerry’s office thinking about Stella. Still no sex between them. She had rather surprised herself the other day when she’d told Kerry they were together. That Stella was her girlfriend. But the blast had put her out hard last night; and now the wound on her leg was going to make a romp in the bed a bit unappealing for at least another few days. Michael wondered if maybe the universe was trying to tell her something about Stella Dagostino. Maybe she didn’t need to try to fall in love with her to keep her close. She liked Stella. She was hot, and the bike was definitely a thing. Maybe this was a relationship that could sustain itself without sex. It was a new horizon for Michael. She was still stinging from Franky’s rejection, even after understanding that Erica was a much better match for her.  
  
In fact, even she recognized that the chemistry between Franky and Erica was off the charts. She didn’t have that with Franky. She didn’t have it with Stella, either. What was that between them that made them such a perfect match? Why didn’t she have it? How could she get it? Would Franky talk with her about this? Not about why things hadn’t worked between Franky and herself, but why they did work so well between Franky and Erica. It was worth a shot.  
  
“They’re barely ten minutes out,” Kerry said, returning to the office. “Why don’t you have a drink here, wait. Let Stella take you home. You look kinda beat, deMedici.”  
  
“Nice, Kerry.” She smiled. “But I like your thinking. What kind of third rate swill you stock around here?”  
  
“I’ve got a decent bourbon.”  
  
“I’ll take it.”  
  
They talked in amiable banter for several minutes, until the two SUV’s pulled in. Stella barged into Kerry’s office, still in full uniform.  
  
“Kerry! Did you hear the latest about the van? They found…” She looked at Michael, her eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”  
  
“Well, I’d still need to come pick you up, then, wouldn’t I?”  
  
Stella was completely distracted by Michael, almost forgetting Kerry was in the room. “I could have got a ride, Michael. You need rest. You didn’t need to be here waiting for me.”  
  
Michael reached out for her, grabbing the front of her body armour and pulling Stella down for a kiss. She meant it to be quick, but Stella was a good kisser. Michael found her hands slipping into Stella’s hair, deepening the contact. Maybe she didn’t need to give up on the sex part just yet.  
  
“Hey! Hey!’ Kerry chided them. “I don’t need to see this. Get outta here!”  
  
Stella pulled back, embarrassed. Not about kissing Michael, but about snogging in front of her boss. She licked her lips but interlaced her fingers with Michael’s. “Sorry, Kerry.” To Michael, she said, “let me get changed. I can shower at your place?”  
  
Michael nodded. Stella turned to go.  
  
“Wait!” Kerry said. “What were you saying about the van?”  
  
“They found red hair in it,” Stella called back, then continued on to the locker room.  
  
“Red hair. So now we look at who close to Franky and Erica has red hair.” She looked at Michael. “You have any ideas?”  
  
“Carolyn Jay in Erica’s office. Stacey Arrington in Franky’s,” Michael said, quietly, a couple of seemingly unrelated facts clicking for her in a very unpleasant way. She started to stand, but sat down again quickly. The fucking leg was killing her. She looked at Kerry. “I think you should start with Stacey Arrington.”


	10. Let Me Go Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long time between updates. Between work and international travel, it's been hard to focus. And now I'm in rural Italy with very spotty internet. There'll be one more chapter in the next day or so. Providing internet doesn't go down. ;0 Then there may be another lull. Thanks for hanging in there!

“I’m thrashing her Erica! Someone has to knock some sense into her!” Franky was furious. They had been at deMedici’s penthouse for a week, so she was a little stir crazy, too. Her wounds were healing. Still, everyone agreed that she should work from home, and on reduced hours, rather than further unnerve the usually traumatized clientele at FemLaw by showing up with a security entourage. So Franky had been inside the penthouse or on the penthouse terrace almost exclusively the entire week.  
  
Not that it was a bad place to be stuck. It was like a luxury hotel: staff, prepared meals, theater, pool. But Franky wasn’t at home. Home was in St. Kilda with Erica. She missed their home. She never thought she would have one, and now that she did, she never wanted to leave it. Unless they were going on holiday. Together.  
  
Franky limped toward the elevator, but then circled back. “Where are your car keys!?”  
  
“Franky, you can’t do this. She’s a child! And technically, she’s not done anything wrong.”  
  
“Following my partner around on the sly, stalking you, is the definition of wrong, Erica! Where are the fucking keys!”  
  
“In the side table by the bed,” she said. There was no way she was going to be able to reason with Franky right now, she realized. ”But you can’t drive, Franky! Just wait for Michael to get there, will you?”  
  
Franky worked at slowing herself, her breathing down. “I do want to talk to that little psycho,” she said from between gritted teeth. ”And you didn’t need to call deMedici to babysit me. Fuck, Erica.”  
  
Erica sighed. Maybe this was as good it was going to get. “We’re already at TRT. Shannon came to pick us up and we’re going in with Kerry in a few minutes.” She paced outside the Tactical Response Inspector’s office while they waited for her to finish a phone call. X sat next to the Intelligence Officer, Leon, who was describing to X what the different media screens were for. “Just think about it, Franky. I actually think it would be a good idea for you to talk to her. But not in anger. Talk to her about consequences. About what happens to young women who run the streets at night alone,” Erica paused. “And about having an abusive parent.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“She’s not had an easy life, honey,” Erica tried to explain without sounding pedantic. “About a month back, the little notebook she’s so tense about fell open. She’s quite a talented sketch artist, but she had an absolutely meltdown that I saw one of her drawings.” She left out the part about it being a beautiful rendering of herself. “She said something about her mum saying her drawings were no good.”  
  
“Mum making fun of your art project isn’t quite the same as Mum putting out cigarettes on your back, Erica.”  
  
Erica was quiet for a moment. They hadn’t talked specifically about Franky’s burn scars, or any of the abuse. Franky never brought it up. Erica never pushed. She figured that Franky worked through these things with Bridget Westfall. And if she wanted to talk about it with her spouse, she would.  
  
She’d seen the scars, obviously. Kissed every little round burn mark a hundred times. The visual, now that Franky had said it, nearly brought Erica to her knees. _Little girl Franky, alone, screaming in pain._ She sat down on the floor next to Kerry’s door. “I know.” Erica had never been glad anyone was dead until she’d heard Joan Ferguson had hanged herself. She was getting close to it with Franky’s mother. “It was more than harping, though. She’s absolutely terrified. And traumatized. All the time.”  
  
Franky was quiet, trying to wrestle her anger at that punk kid into it’s proper place. “Tell me what she said to you.”  
  
_It was a Tuesday, Erica’s regular volunteer day at Hunter Home. She was working through some exercises with X that would get her closer to passing her HSC. Erica watched as Christina slid her fingers closer and closer to hers across the table. She had been through this adolescent flirting bit with X before. She pulled her hand out of range, sitting back in her chair._  
  
_“X. You know that isn’t appropriate.”_  
  
_“I watch you sometimes, Erica.”_  
  
_Erica was confused at the seeming non-sequiter. “I’m sorry?”_  
  
_“That night I was grounded for missing curfew. I was in St. Kilda. On the beach.” Christina continued to look down at her paper while speaking. “I know you live on the 10th floor with a beach view.”_  
  
_That bit knocked Erica back on her heels. Oh Jesus. “What have you done, Christina?” Please no._  
  
_“I know you buy junk food in that little American sundries shop by your office.”_  
  
_Erica stood up, knocking her chair back. Several of the other girls looked over at them._  
  
_X finally looked up at Erica. She was clearly distressed. Ready to cry. “I haven’t done anything Erica. I swear it. But I’m going to get blamed for everything, aren’t I?”_  
  
_Erica took several calming breaths, put her hands protectively across her belly. All of the girls had seen the news about Franky’s accident and the bomb in the condominium flat. She had assured them everyone was alright, that Franky was recovering, and everyone could get on with their homework._  
  
_But how could she possibly have missed a sociopath right under her nose? She had worked in prison for nearly two years for christsakes. “It depends on what you’ve done. You need to tell me. Right now, Christina.”_  
  
_X stood up, starting to come around the table. Erica backed up, nearly tripping over her overturned chair. “Stay there. Just tell me what you’ve done, X.”_  
  
_“Oh man. Now you’re afraid of me! But I haven’t done anything.” Gia and Sam, two of Christina’s roommates, came towards Erica, putting themselves between her and their fellow teen._  
  
_“She’s a freak, Erica. Dunno why you give her so much care,” growled Gigi._  
  
_“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Did she do something stupid? She usually does.” Sam rounded the table and pushed Christina back into her chair. “Answer Erica’s question, psycho.”_  
  
_“Girls,” Erica said, trying to de-escalate the situation. Realizing she created it by jumping out of her chair in the way that she did. She sat back down across the table from the distressed young woman, trying to continue to think of her as just that. “I’m fine. Go back to your studies.”_  
  
_Gia and Sam reluctantly resumed their seats, but scooted closer. Everyone in the room tried to pretend not to listen._  
  
_“Talk to me, X,” Erica said softly, once she’d regained her composure. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want you to trust me. We’ve talked about this. Tell me what’s happened, X.”_  
  
_“I’m afraid…”_  
  
_“Of me?”_  
  
_“No. I wasn’t going to say anything. But I saw the woman put the bomb in your building. But you’re going to be angry and probably not want to see me anymore and I’m going to have to talk to the police, aren’t I? And then you won’t want to see me again. You’re going to leave and it’s all my fault and everyone will hate me more than they already do. But I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want that lady to do anything else that might hurt you.”_  
  
_Erica sat up straight. “You saw her? You’re sure it was a ‘her’?”_  
  
_“I’m sorry, Erica. I’m truly sorry. I’ve stuffed everything, haven’t I? Everything.” Christina put her head down in her arms, and cried._  
  
It was well past 7pm by the time Franky and Michael had arrived at TRT HQ. Michael had been at FemLaw when Erica rung her in a panic about the girl having seen who planted the bomb a week ago, that they were on their way to HQ with Shannon, and could she please just be with Franky. She was going to lose it when Erica told her about this, and likely do something rash.  
  
Now Franky and Michael were in the control room with Leon and Stella. Kerry and Shannon interviewed Christina, with Erica standing by as legal counsel and support for the young woman.  
  
Franky paced, her cane making a steady tapping on the concrete floor. “I don’t know whether to beat her ass for stalking my girl or for sitting on this information for nearly a week!” She fumed. “Or both!”  
  
Stella had stowed her vest and equipment belt in her locker, but was still in uniform, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. “Whoa, Franks,” she said, trying to be soothing. Not succeeding. She was pretty angry as well. “There will be no beating of ass. Chill out. I’ll take her out and shoot her later.”  
  
Michael stood up. “I can’t believe I’m the voice of reason in a police station,” she glared at Franky and at Stella. “The girl may have some very valuable information. Let’s at least hear what she has to say. She may be the key to figuring out who is trying to kill Franky.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “And it seems like she’s had a pretty fucked up life. Let’s just give her the benefit of the doubt for a minute.”  
  
“A lot of people have a fucked up life, deMedici. Doesn’t give them the right to stalk my partner!”  
  
“Didn’t you basically assault her in prison?”  
  
Franky turned swiftly, boiling over, throwing a punch which Michael deftly caught in one fist before Stella could reach them. Michael wrapped Franky in her arms, holding her tightly, so she couldn’t move, couldn’t lash out. “You ought to know better than to try to fight me by now, Doyle.”  
  
“Fuck you, deMedici,” she spat, struggling. “Let me GO!”  
  
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Stella got up in her face, truly incredulous, both at Franky’s lack of control and Michael’s amazing reflexes. “Pull your shit together. You’re the grown up in this situation, right?!”  
  
Michael put her mouth close to Franky’s ear. “I know you’re angry. And maybe a little frightened. Anything could have happened in a week. But what you’re thinking and the way you’re acting is only going to make things worse. We will handle this. Trust me.”  
  
Franky continued to strain against Michael’s grip. She did trust her mate. But that didn’t make her less angry.  
  
Michael continued. “That kid doesn’t even know that you’re the target. Erica’s not likely in danger, except by proximity. You’re the only one putting her in danger. Now you’re throwing tantrums like a five year old.”  
  
Stella was impressed at Michael’s smooth de-escalation of the situation. She patted Franky’s face affectionately. “She’s right, Franks.”  
  
Franky frowned, closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. “You said you would shoot her.”  
  
“Yeah. I wasn’t serious, Franks. Jesus. She’s 15.”  
  
Michael relaxed her grip on Franky, just as Kerry, Shannon, and Erica, trailed by Christina emerged from the interior office. The timing couldn’t have been worse.  
  
“You little…” Franky snarled, lunging at the teenager.  
  
Before anyone else had time to react, Stella and Michael engulfed Franky and physically removed her to the locker room.  
  
“Seriously!?” Yelled Stella. “Can this not be about you losing your shit for five fucking seconds, Franky! With a child?!”  
  
Franky looked at her, stunned. Michael pushed her down onto a bench, but stood close in front, between Franky’s thighs, blocking her ability to move.  
  
“I love you, Franks, but you can suck the oxygen out of a room quicker than anyone I ever met. Mostly it’s… quite charming. You being the center of attention and all.” Stella paced, relying on her police training not to give in to her own ire at the moment. At her own sister. “But right now it’s going to get you a charge for assaulting a minor. What about going back to prison is appealing to you, yeah?”  
  
Franky didn’t have an answer. She was just fucking angry. She stared at the ground.  
  
“Leaving Erica on her own with two babies? What kind of fucking parent are you going to be, charging on a kid like that?!?”  
  
Franky looked up sharply, her expression pained.  
  
“She’s got those little burn scars across her lower back. Did you see?” Michael asked Franky, looking down at her. The young woman’s shirt had ridden up a bit when she had dodged Franky’s impending assault, exposing a strip of scarred flesh. “Same as yours.”  
  
Franky shook her head, looked down at her fingernails. Michael lifted her chin. “Stel’s right. You have to calm down, hear what the girl has to say. If they even let you back in the room.”  
  
“Fuck,” Franky said, softly. She had always been under the impression that she attracted self-involved, selfish women. Not that she was one. And she knew she was being a monumental pain in the ass to everyone at the moment. She wrapped her arms around her head, leaning against Michael’s hip. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.  
  
“You need to apologize to that kid,” Michael responded. “And to Erica.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You stay here and babysit, deMedici. I’ll go in and assure everyone that she’s… I dunno.” Stella left, calling back over her shoulder. “Stay there!”  
  
Michael sat down next to Franky. “I thought you had this licked.”  
  
“I don’t know what happens to me about Erica, deMedici. I can’t stand the thought of her being hurt. In any way. And that stupid kid sat on that info for a week. A week, Michael. Anything could have happened.”  
  
“We covered that, Doyle. And nothing happened.” She sighed, heavily. She knew exactly how Franky felt about wanting to protect Erica. It was how she felt about wanting to protect Franky. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long to figure this out.”  
  
“Not your fault. I’m lucky you’re even on team Doyle, aye?”  
  
“You mean, you’re lucky you’re on team deMedici,” Michael said, smiling. “Do I want to know how you reacted when Ferguson’s guy took her?”  
  
“Ahhhh. No.” Franky looked away, blushed, remembering the very heated, intense response that had provoked in her. And in Erica.  
  
Franky didn’t have anything left to say. She knew Erica was going to be tossed. _I need to talk to Gidge. She’s going to be so disappointed._  
  
“You probably need a break from that gilded cage I have you in. But this girl could be the key to getting you out of there. Don’t fuck it up.”  
  
“Yeah. I got it.”  
   
Michael put her arm around Franky and kissed her temple, just as Erica entered the locker room. Erica rolled her eyes, remembering the last time she was here in this police station. With Michael deMedici. _Definitely a love hate relationship._  
  
She gritted her teeth, trying to stay focused on Franky, not be distracted by deMedici pawing her partner. “Franky?! What was that?”  
  
Franky stood up quickly, focused on Erica, completely contrite. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, honey. No excuse. I was completely out of line.”  
  
Erica advanced on her. “So far out of line, Franky! You scared the living daylights out of her. What is it? What’s the matter with you?”  
  
Franky took her hands, kissed her knuckles. “Anything could have happened over the last week while she sat on that information. I know nothing did. I just needed to work that through. I should have stayed away. Back at the penthouse.” She kissed Erica’s palm. “I just can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”  
  
Erica tried to maintain a steely exterior, stay angry, but Franky’s watery green eyes were already melting her. “Oh, Franky.” She closed her eyes. “We need to talk about this more. Whatever you’re experiencing now is only going to get worse when we have children to take care of.  We have to unwind this, whatever it is that triggers you. Before the babies are born.” She put her arms around her partner, hugging her tightly. “But right now, you need to apologize. To everyone. Especially Chri… X.”  
  
Franky kissed her, pleased when Erica let her linger, not pulling back. “Okay. I can do that.” She took Erica’s hand to walk with her back to the main control room. Michael followed on their heels.  
  
They passed Shannon, Lawson and Josh, who were headed into the locker room. “Nice, Doyle,” Shan said, shoving Franky into the wall hard but playfully. Kind of.  
  
“Sorry, guys. Seriously,” Franky said, rebounding from the shove. “I know that wasn’t cool. Won’t happen again.”  
  
“Yeah. Next time you bring her in, Erica, keep her on the leash,” added the usually silent Josh.  
  
_Ouch_ , Michael mouthed at Franky, grinning impishly. Franky thought about shoving Michael into the wall. Erica squeezed her hand. Hard. Glaring at her. Franky was already toeing the line and wisely decided not to cross it.  
  
As they entered the other room, Franky could see X perched on stool next to Leon, Stella standing behind them as they talked through what was on the screen. The kid seemed deeply fascinated by all the technology, Erica noted. As they approached, the three heads turned to them and X scrambled off the stool, hiding herself behind Stella.  
  
Jesus, thought Franky. I scared the piss out of her. She approached the slight young woman, dropping Erica’s hand. “Hey, X,” she said softly. Stella moved from in front of her but stayed by her side. Franky put one hand up behind her neck. The girl flinched, as if Franky was about to strike her. Franky closed her eyes. She knew that gesture all too well. “Look. What I did to you a few minutes ago was terrible.” She opened her eyes, watching the girl earnestly. “It should never have happened. And I promise it won’t happen again. Ok?”  
  
The girl nodded hesitantly.  
  
“Maybe we can spend some time together, get to know each other better. I’m actually not such a bad person. I’m just not always very good at controlling my temper.”  
  
“My mum wasn’t either,” X said, quietly. “And you’re going to be a mum, too.”  
  
_Fuck off!_ She shot a pleading look at Erica. _Can’t I just slap the shit out of her?_ Erica’s gaze was steely. Franky took a deep breath instead. “Yes. Which is one of many reasons why what I did to you was so wrong. I’m really sorry, X.”  
  
“Mum never apologized for anything.”  
  
“Well, I am. Can you accept it?”  
  
“Ok.”  
  
“Shake on it?” Franky put her hand out.  
  
X stretched hers out, slowly. Franky took her hand, then took a chance. She added another grasp and a fist bump — the three part ‘soul brother’ handshake. X actually knew what it was and responded enthusiastically, with a broad smile.  
  
“That’s my girl,” Franky said, gracing X with her million watt smile. X actually blushed. Then threw herself at Franky, wrapping her in a tight hug. Franky patted her back awkwardly, giving Erica an arched eyebrow.  
  
“And on that note,” Erica chimed in, “Let’s get you home.”  
  
*********************************************  
  
Franky and Erica lay together in bed in the master suite at the penthouse. A week had passed since X’s confession and Franky’s meltdown.  
  
Franky had her mouth on Erica’s rounded belly, placing soft kisses there, talking animatedly. “More lawyers in the family wouldn’t be bad. Or doctors would work. Did I hear someone say she wants to be a rock star?”  
  
Erica smiled, ruffling Franky’s hair. “We haven’t even picked names yet, honey. How about we start there before you give out career advice?”  
  
“Someone won’t let us find out what the sexes are,” she said, moving back up Erica’s body, kissing her, but continuing to rub the expanding belly. “Might be easier to make some decisions if we knew, boys, girls, or one of each.”  
  
Erica exhaled, exasperated. “I’ve said this. It doesn’t matter, Franky! We still have to name them.”  
  
“Thing One and Thing Two, then.” Franky eyed her partner’s rounding physique appreciatively as Erica turned on her side to face her. “Well, I think we should give them both your middle name, regardless of the sex.”  
  
“You’re pandering to my mother. We don’t have to do that if you’d prefer not to.”  
  
Erica’s middle name, as well as her sister’s, was Seymour. Erica’s mother’s maiden name. She was from a long line of Seymours who had been, and still were, British aristocracy. Landed gentry. The relational chain got a bit spotty by the time it got to the Australian continent, but Erica’s mother held onto it and professed great pride in the association, even though it meant squat Down Under. She had passed the name on to her girls, and expected Erica and Veronica to do the same.  
  
“It’s a solid name, Erica. And it’s yours. I want our children to have it too.”  
  
Erica kissed her. “Mmmmmm. Seymour Davidson-Doyle is a mouthful. Particularly for a girl.” Then she gasped, as Franky took a mouthful of Erica’s breast, pushing her back into a supine position. “Hey. Focus for ten seconds, will you?”  
  
Franky didn’t stop. “I am very focused. Pregnancy is so, so sexy on you, babe. Your tits are bigger.”  
  
Erica lifted Franky’s chin so that they were eye to eye. “Do you have any preferences for first names? How about Italian? Or Irish?”  
  
Franky went up on her elbow so she was looking down into Erica’s eyes, as her free hand slid lower, below Erica’s stomach. “I like the Italian names, but as you know, I’m not exactly attached to my heritage in that way.” Erica’s eyes fluttered closed as Franky’s fingers went to work between her legs.  
  
“Jesus,” Erica breathed out.  
  
“That’s not Italian,” Franky smiled, then let her tongue go to work on Erica’s mouth and breasts.  
  
Awhile later they lay together in post-coital bliss. “We need to come up with names, Franky.”  
  
“I know, baby. We have time. We have five more months.”  
  
_Fine. I’m letting this go for now, but we will do this._ Erica changed the subject. “Has Michael found anything else out about our red-haired girl?  
  
“I can’t wrap my head around that,” Franky said, glad for the shift in topic. She really wasn’t worried about names. Erica could pick them for all she cared. “I just can’t. Stace is a mousey barrister. A funny mousey barrister. But not a murderous bomber. Especially of me. We get on quite well. She likes me.”  
  
X’s description of the person who had planted the bomb in their St. Kilda flat lobby vaguely matched Stacey Arrington — petite frame, red hair. But that was about all that X had seen. And the person had been in a hoody, with dark glasses. It did back up the red hair found in the van. Stacey had immediately offered up a hair sample but the lab had not come back yet with results.  
  
“Hmmm. Who doesn’t? So tell me about this funny mousey barrister you spent so much time with while I was out braving the wilds.”  
  
“We went to a few happy hours. I don’t know. That night you came to pick me up and she was there, she was like a different person. And she’s been that person since.  She’s almost like a stand-up comedian. Killing me with the jokes.”  
  
“Does she have a crush on you?”  
  
Franky averted her gaze, pretended to pick something from Erica’s shoulder. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Franky…”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Jesus, Franky.”  
  
“Well it’s not like anything is going to happen. Why does this bother you so much?”  
  
“Why do you go ballistic when you think something’s maybe might going to be happening to me?”  
  
“Because I love you. And I don’t want you to leave. Neither because something happens to you nor because you want to go.” Franky paused there, trying to catch up with herself. _Where did that come from? Didn’t we settle that she doesn’t leave unless I say she can go?_ “Why did you leave Wentworth?”  
  
_Whoa! Where did that come from?_ “Franky, are you serious?”  
  
Franky was studying her fingernails. “You never said.”  
  
Erica sat up, cross-legged on the bed. “Franky Davidson-Doyle.” Franky looked up. “Have you not figured that out by now?”  
  
Franky’s gaze was guarded. “And you slotted me for five weeks. You know I didn’t have anything to do with those drugs.”  
  
“Umm, ok,” Erica said, trying to gather her thoughts. She was such a different person now than back then, when she had first met the outrageously attractive inmate. Completely unaware and unprepared for what was in store for her. For her and Franky together inside Wentworth. “Look, Franky. I hope you understand…” She was having a hard time finding the words.  
  
“You were selfish and ambitious,” Franky started for her.  
  
Erica tried not to smile at how easily her partner read her. “Yes. I was. I threw you under the bus, Franky. That’s what I did back then, trying to get ahead. Covering my own arse.” She looked down and took one of Franky’s hands, brought the fingers to her lips. “It was wrong. And provocative. I deserved the mashing you gave me, the assault. I wound you up.”  
  
“But you wouldn’t have know that back then, Erica,” Franky responded. She hadn’t meant to be so hard on her lover, but did want to hear the thinking, understand what happened so she could put it behind her. It still nagged. And somewhere deep inside, Franky feared she had done something to anger Erica back then, that Erica had decided she was worthless. She’d spent five weeks by herself stewing over it. It would break her heart to know that Erica actually regretted any of the time they’d spent together inside the prison. Even as intentionally annoying as she had been, she always seemed to be able to make Erica smile, if not laugh outright. She had relished those moments.  
  
Memories of those moments, and their kiss, were about all that kept Franky sane in the brutal months after Erica had disappeared. Until Bridget.  
  
“It still had impact, didn’t it? And I knew it was wrong. I’m sorry, Franky.” She leaned over and kissed her. “You had me so incredible confused. Even before you kissed me, I couldn’t keep away. And I didn’t know why. I mean I did, but I didn’t think there was anything to be done about it.” She stopped and met Franky’s open gaze. “But then when you kissed me,” she closed her eyes, eyebrows furrowed, “I was done. I knew I would never be able to tell you no. I knew I would do anything for you.” She opened her eyes.  
  
Franky’s mouth was open in amazement. This was a story she had not expected. She thought Erica left because Franky had angered, frightened and abused her.  
  
“I had been having such erotic dreams about you, waking up panting in the middle of the night. In bed with Mark.”  
  
“Shit! Really?” And Erica _had_ left because Franky kissed her. But because she _loved_ it, not because she was angered and disgusted by it. She had been in love with Franky all along.  
  
“Yes. Whatever noises I was making would wake up Mark, and he would get all smarmy and say, ‘I hope that dream was about me.’ I never could answer him honestly. They never were.”  
  
“Sweet,” Franky said, grinning at her, sitting up cross-legged in front of Erica. _She was fucking him and thinking of me! Hah!_  
  
“This is serious, Franky! I was completely out of my depth. I had no idea what was going on, except that I thought I was going to end up a sex slave to one of my own inmates. I would have been ruined. You may have ended up with more time.”  
  
Franky pushed Erica back down onto the mattress. “That would have been so fucking hot, me and you doing the nasty at Wentworth. Erica, Erica. Such wasted opportunity. We could have ruled that place together.”  
  
“No, Franky!” Erica was annoyed. “No, we couldn’t. You were a different person back then. You would have used me and manipulated me. And I would have gladly let you. Think about it!”  
  
Franky lay down next to her. “I wouldn’t have done that to you, Erica. I loved you. Even then.” _More like I would have got myself killed, trying to protect my girls and not disappoint you._  
  
“I didn’t understand, Franky. I didn’t understand any of this. The only thing that made sense to me was getting out of there. Away from you and your kisses and your brutal, irresistible charm.” She kissed her.  
  
“So it was because of me. Bennet said that you were pushed out by Channing.”  
  
“She shouldn’t have told you that. He was pushing me out. But I could have fought, stayed longer. Much longer. I just didn’t want to. And of course Vera Bennet wouldn’t know that I’d resigned because I’d let myself be compromised by someone under my care.”  
  
Franky watched Erica watching her take this in. She was disappointed that Erica had been so completely freaked out by that kiss. That she was unable to process, back then, what those kisses meant about the two of them. Together. What they could be together. But she also realized Erica truly hadn’t been ready years ago. All the work that she had done with Erica to get her to the Velvet Curtain would have been so much harder to accomplish if they’d started an affair in prison. If Erica had that association in her mind about them being together. _Illicit. Illegal. Dirty. Wrong._ And for all those things to be technically true.  
  
And Erica liked illicit, dangerous, risky. But there were some lines she wouldn’t cross. Legality was one of them. Professionalism and reputation were others. If Franky had managed to convince Erica to carry on an affair with a prisoner, and anyone had gotten wind of it at all, she would have left anyway. Even before they’d kissed, the sexual tension between them was noticeable to anyone who wasn’t legally blind, deaf and dumb. They would have been found out. And in Erica’s mind, that would ruin her. Ruin everything.  
  
Franky understood, finally, that despite the anguish she had felt when Erica disappeared, it was what Erica had needed to do. And it really wasn’t because Franky had pushed her away, as she had feared. It was that Erica ran, and Franky wasn’t able to give chase.  
  
At least until she got out.  
  
And it may have been the right thing, in the long term, for them both. It certainly had got them in the bed together tonight. Married. Pregnant. She couldn’t honestly say they would have survived a relationship that tried to blossom inside Wentworth. She leaned over and kissed Erica deeply.  
  
“You’re never leaving me,” Franky said, between kisses.  
  
“Of course not. Nothing could keep me from you,” Erica whispered, kissing back. “It broke my heart, leaving you like that. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“But we’re here now,” Franky said, her breath catching as Erica’s hand found it’s way between her legs, to her favorite spot.  
  
“Yes. Forever, Franky. You and me. Does that work for you?”  
  
“Mmmm hmmmm,” Franky moaned, putting her mouth on Erica’s neck. Sucking there. Leaving a mark. She figured she could finally put this thing about leaving away now. Erica had loved her back then too, even if she didn’t know it. But Franky did. “Definitely works for me.”  
  
*****************************************  
  
“You know they took a hair sample,” Stacey said.  
  
No response.  
  
“You little shite. Please tell me you didn’t do this.”  
  
Still no response.  
  
“I gave it to them, you idiot! What’s going to happen now?”  
  
“It won’t match. Don’t be such a wuss.”  
  
“You have to stop. You’ve almost killed her. And other people. How did I not see this coming? I think it’s time…”  
  
“No! You can’t make me go back! I’ll just leave here! I can!”  
  
“Shut up, you little shite!” Stacey said harshly. “This stops. Or you go back to in. Do you understand me?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good!”  



	11. So Afraid of Fortune

Another two quiet weeks had passed. Franky and Erica’s flat was declared structurally sound, but no one was any closer to finding out who was behind the string of incidents against Franky; so they were still at the penthouse. Michael and TRT had thoroughly scoured both Carolyn Jay and Stacey Arrington’s lives, and could find nothing amiss. Michael did find a bit of bi-polar institutionalization in Stacey’s sealed juvey records; but nothing in her adult life indicated anything out of the ordinary. Just a long career committed to helping women in the criminal justice system.  
  
It was early afternoon and Franky and Michael were slouched in the back row of the penthouse theater, watching _Guardians of the Galaxy_. They were both eating from a large bowl of popcorn in Michael’s lap.  
  
“Zoe Saldana is hot as a green alien, reckon?”  
  
Michael didn’t answer. Franky took a sip of her diet coke. Grabbed another handful of popcorn.  
  
“She’s just hot. She could be an argyle koala and she’d be hot,” Michael finally responded. “Speaking of hot…” she hesitated. She was of two minds about this. On one hand, she knew Franky was restless and could do with an outing. And Michael was jonesing for serious release as well. Stella had been working a lot and they still, unbelievably, hadn’t had sex. Being around Franky so casually and intimately while Erica so hormonal was starting to wear on Michael's nerves. On the other hand, Erica was such a possessive harpy and was guaranteed to hate this idea.  
  
“What?” Franky prodded, stuffing another handful of popcorn in her mouth.  
  
Michel paused the movie, turning to Franky in the half-light. “Sam’s in town Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”  
  
Sam was Samantha Ronson, a world-famous DJ. She had dated Lindsey Lohan. Her brother had produced Amy Winehouse’s _Back to Black_ album. And she was a killer partymaker on the international circuit. It was guaranteed to be the best scene in town. Sam was a mate of Michael’s and was likely to be staying at the penthouse while she was in Melbourne anyway. It would be bad form for Michael not to show to at least one of her gigs.  
  
One slim eyebrow went up. Franky turned to face her fully. “Seriously?”  
  
Michael nodded her head.  
  
Franky couldn’t help but smile devilishly. Sam’s gig’s were the best party she’d ever been to. The music was definitely awesome. The clientele was a veritable who’s who of Melbourne — hell, internationally. The last time she and Michael had attended one of Sam’s gigs, Kate Winslet, Jared Leto and Justin Bieber had been there. Not that Franky cared to know these people. But these people wanted to know Michael. And be seen by one another. And it was fun to get coked up and dance all fucking night. And have crazy, crazy sex. With several people.  
  
“Fuck you, deMedici. You are pure evil,” Franky couldn’t help but keep smiling, though. Even though that kind of partying was in her past, there were some fantastic memories.  
  
“Bring her. No smoking indoors. She can keep an eye on you. She can go to the quiet room, or you can bring her home anytime you are ready,” Michael said, softly, trying to sound convincing without sounding manipulative. She wasn’t sure which was true. “And you can control yourself, aye?” She wasn’t sure of this at all. Was she setting Franky up?  
  
And why not? Stella was giving her nothing. Franky was a grown woman. She should be able to go to the club for one fucking night.  
  
“No, deMedici. No way Erica’s going for it.” Franky grabbed the remote and unpaused the movie.  
  
_Erica’s going for it. Watch._  
  
Only a few minutes later, Franky’s mobile buzzed in the pocket of her hoody. Text from Erica.  
  
_Home early. Where are you?_  
  
_Theater. Back row._  
  
Several minutes later, Erica entered the cavernous room and climbed up the stairs to where Franky and Michael sat in companionable silence. She half sat in the seat next to Franky, watching Franky’s hand as it reached into the bowl in Michael’s lap. Erica’s eyes moved up to Michael’s face. Michael was watching her. Erica glared. Michael lazily moved the bowl to Franky’s lap and returned to watching the movie, hands to herself.  
  
Erica took a deep breath, trying to not be annoyed and focused her attention on Franky, who had witnessed the entire exchange. She pulled her partner in for a deep, probing kiss.  
  
“Mmmmmm,” Franky hummed against her lips. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”  
  
_Speak for yourself_ , Michael thought, but didn’t say. She did refrain from reaching for more popcorn. She needed Erica on her good side for the next several days. She needed Erica to follow the crumbs she was about to lay out.  
  
“Just finished early. How is it that I’m pregnant, eating for three and working 50 hour weeks and you’re loafing in a home theater in the middle of the afternoon?”  
  
“Married up, I reckon,” Franky said cheekily. She kissed her partner again.  
  
Erica quickly succumbed to Franky’s comforting charm. “I reckon you did,” she said softly, settling down next to her partner for the duration of the film. After she’d rung down to the kitchen for some bubbly water.  
  
**********************************  
  
Too late, Erica realized how carefully Michael deMedici had manipulated her. And Franky hadn’t said a word. To be fair, it was unclear how much Franky knew and when she knew it. But after the movie, they had exited the theater and Michael had taken Erica down to the gym, where a masseuse waited. A masseuse who specialized in prenatal body work.  
  
“Do it, Erica,” Michael had commanded. “If you then decide it’s not for you, we can cancel the weekly appointments.” The massage was heavenly. After that, there was dinner, and they were now on the terrace having dessert.  
  
“Just think about it.” Michael was addressing Erica directly. “Party doesn’t really get started until about 1am. You could have the massage, have a nap, then go for a couple of hours.” _Or not._ _I'll take good care of your girl._ “Leave whenever you like. Take the car. They’ll come back for me when I call.”  
  
“I already told her you wouldn’t go for it,” Franky interjected. “Besides. Wouldn’t the music be too loud for the babies?”  
  
“Ever heard of earplugs, Doyle?” Michael quipped. “Besides. You can stay out in the quiet room. It oversees the dance floor. Or even in the booth with Sam. It’s soundproof in there and you can see everything.”  
  
They had been staying at Michael’s penthouse for over two months. Erica was nearly six months into her pregnancy and very much showing. A nightclub was the last place she needed to be. But it was obvious that Franky needed a night out. And she deserved it. She’d been cooped up for months. But wasn’t there another way? Erica racked her brain. Maybe they could go away together for the weekend.  
  
She should have been on her guard at the lack of needling this week. Michael hadn’t exactly been nice, chatty or friendly; but she hadn’t gone out of her way to provoke Erica as she usually did. Then there was the quick capitulation with the popcorn bowl. The Michael deMedici Erica knew would have continued to eat out of it. Out of Franky’s lap. Taking her time while digging in the pile of fluffy, white kernels, pressing the bowl a little more firmly than necessary against Franky’s crotch.  
  
It was the prenatal massage that completely disarmed her. Michael had often expressed genuine concern about her physical well being, and the couple of times that Michael had given her a command, which Erica was subconsciously compelled to follow — even coming from Michael — had been about taking proper physical care. The first time was in the hospital after Franky’s car accident, when she had had some cramping. Then a couple of hours ago with the massage. Both times, a small, unwelcome chill went up Erica’s spine under the command. Michael would make an excellent dom.  
  
And then Michael had dropped this nightclub bomb. It was everything Erica had feared coming into the lion’s den, as she had thought of the penthouse that first night: an appeal to Franky and Michael’s past relationship and the excesses of that; access to titillating wealth and celebrity that Erica rarely even glimpsed; and social circles — let alone a literal dance floor — that Franky could navigate, with Michael; where Erica had no place. And she had put her head right in the mouth of the leader of the pride.  
  
“Mike!”  
  
Michael stood up, a genuinely pleased grin on her face. “Sam!” She loped over to where Samantha Ronson stood at the doorway to the terrace.  
  
Franky stood too, but stayed next to Erica, whose swollen belly made it impossible for her to pull herself out of the deep seat she was in. Fortunately she was facing the action.  
  
As Michael approached the lanky, boyish-looking crew-cut bleached blonde, the girl ran at Michael, pulling her into a fierce hug, lifting her off the ground. She was nearly as tall as Michael, but much more muscular where Michael was lithe and svelte. “Good to see you, Mike. Been a couple of years, yeah? Too long!”  
  
“Definitely too long.”  
  
“Heard you left the family practice?”  
  
“Yes. Long story. Franky’s here….”  
  
Samantha looked over Michael’s shoulder, seeing the other familiar face. “You guys still…?”  
  
“Nah,” Michael said, “but…”  
  
“Good,” Sam interrupted and jogged her way across the tile to where Franky stood, smiling. “Fuck, Franks. Still fucking hot as ever, I see!” She pulled Franky into an embrace.  
  
Franky hugged her back, quite excited to see this blast from the past. Sam was fun. And incredible at her craft. Even without the scene, the drugs, the excess, Franky listened to her mix tapes. “Great to see you too, Sam.” She pulled back, turning to Erica. “I’d like….”  
  
Samantha latched onto Franky’s neck. “You gonna give a girl a chance, Franks?” she said, kissing along her jaw, seeking her lips.  
  
Franky grabbed Sam’s jaw in one hand, forcing her to look at Erica, down on the couch. “I’d like you to meet my partner, Erica Davidson-Doyle.” She pushed Sam away and pulled Erica up with one hand, sliding a possessive arm about her waist. She kissed her on the temple. _This is going to take some couples therapy_ , Franky mused.  
  
“Oh shit,” Sam said, apologetically. She blushed, appropriately abashed. “So sorry. No disrespect meant. Good on ya, Erica. Franky’s quite the score. So pleased to meet you.” She put her hand out in hopeful companionship.  
  
Erica shook it, using all of her energy to maintain her composure, focusing on the pleasing lilt of Samantha’s British inflection. _Michael set me up on so many levels_ , she fumed. “Well, I hear you give a killer party. Can’t wait to see it.”  
  
“Awww, sweeeeeet!” Sam responded, pumping her fist. “So glad you are going to be there.” She eyed Erica’s belly. “Errrm,”  
  
“Twins,” Erica said, matter-of-factly.  
  
“Sweet. You can hang in the booth with me if it’s too loud for you. It’s sound proof up there. And you can keep an eye on your hot-assed girl. Plus, they bring snacks and drinks on command.” She turned to Michael, her energy somewhat manic. “Mike. Knackered. Food. Crash?”  
  
“Come on,” Michael beckoned, laughing. “I’ll see you to your suite. We’ll call down for a plate.  
  
Erica plopped back down onto the lounge, seething. How had she been so easily seduced and manipulated? Franky didn’t seem to be affected even remotely. Even after two months there, she could blithely take or leave it all.  
  
“Honey,” Franky started. “We don’t have to go. Really. Maybe we can go away together this weekend. Me and you. No one else. Except my security entourage.” She smiled, batting her eyes. Franky was still not bothered about any of this.  
  
Erica smiled bitterly. “She’s fucking good, Franky. So good. There’s no way you can’t go to Sam’s gig. And there’s no way you’re going without me. We’re just going to have to figure it out.”  
  
“Look at me,” Franky pulled Erica’s face into her hands. “We don’t have to do anything. You’re letting her draw you in. A pissing match. Just let it go. I don’t care about them. Only you. And our babies.”  
  
Erica watched Franky’s face carefully, looking for the tell-tale signs that she was overcompensating. Or even flat out lying. “But you want to go to the club.”  
  
Franky sat back, sighing. “I’d be lying if I said no. It is fun, Erica. Sam really does a fantastic show. I actually think you’d love it. But moreso if you didn’t happen to be incubating our aliens.” She held her partners hand. Kissed it. “But I’ve been there. Done that. I don’t need it now. I really don’t. Please believe me.”  
  
“You haven’t been out in months, Franky. You’re about to eat the wallpaper.”  
  
Franky chuckled. “Well, then let’s me and you head up the coast for the weekend.”  
  
For the first time in their two years together, Erica second-guessed their relationship. Had she forced the marriage too soon? Forced the children too soon? Was Franky still needing to ‘spread her wild oats’ a bit before settling down? Michael offered her a type of stimulation Erica didn’t have access to. And so far, Franky hadn’t sought it out, or responded to any of Michael’s obvious attempts at seduction. Yet here was a simple, yet infinitely complicated, frightening thing for Erica. Her bored-to-death partner at a high end club with access to… anything.  
  
In fact it was Erica who had been seduced by Michael: the luxury of the penthouse; the chef-on-demand, servants bringing her things; in-house prenatal massage. Either way, Erica knew that if she didn’t show up with Franky at this party, she would regret it, second guess it, for the rest of their lives. She needed to be able to exist in Franky’s world, just as Franky had adapted to hers. And she needed to demonstrate that she trusted Franky in those spaces. So far, Erica hadn’t made much effort in that respect. Franky was the one that dressed up and did parlor tricks for Erica’s parents; at her dinner parties and for her events. It wasn’t that Franky didn’t enjoy socializing in Erica’s circles; but she pretended to enjoy Erica’s mates much more than she actually did.  
  
And it wasn’t as if Franky was complaining about anything. But again, Erica was very careful about keeping her lover focused and entertained. And though Franky seemed currently non-plussed by all of the access through Michael’s lifestyle, Erica could tell that the thought of being in the club got Franky’s blood moving. She could see the excitement on her face, feel it in her pulse. Denying her that would only make Michael more enticing, even if subconsciously. One night out. Couldn’t Erica give her one fucking night out on the town? Didn’t she trust Franky enough? Fuck Michael. This was about her and Franky.  
  
Erica took a deep breath and figuratively jumped. “Let’s do that next weekend. How many more times are you going to have access to a Sam Ronson production? And I want to see this party, this scene that you used to frequent.”  
  
Franky looked over at her skeptically. “You are so lying, Miss Davidson.”  
  
“No. Seriously, Franky. It probably would have been more enjoyable for me if I was getting pregnant next month instead of six months in. Then I could really shake my butt all night with you. I’m sorry I won’t be up to it. But I am curious to see Franky in her natural environment.” She smiled, kissing her partner.  
  
“You are my natural environment,” Franky murmured, kissing her back.  
  
“How about wild Franky in her natural environment? Pre-domestication?”  
  
Franky pulled Erica over so that she was straddling her lap. “Believe me, honey. You know everything there is to know about wild Franky in her natural environment.” She moved to stand up with Erica’s legs wrapped around her waist. It took a couple of tries. Erica wasn’t the svelte, easily toted hottie she had been six months ago. She blushed. “Damn, baby,” Franky huffed. “Whatcha got in there? Twins?”  
  
Franky took Erica to bed, where they reminded each other about wild Franky and wild Erica in their mutual natural environment.  
  
********************************************  
  
Erica was in the booth with Sam. It really was the best view in the house. She had her own headphones where she could control the volume.  
  
She had never seen anything like this before. The club wasn’t humongous, but it was packed. Wall to wall people. And there were also several private booths that were arranged in tiers around the dance floor, occupied by many people that Erica recognized. Either they were high end socialites on the Melbourne scene; or celebrities. Nicole Kidman was there. Snoop Dogg. Clare Danes. Johnathan Rhys-Myers. Was that Kanye West? Justin Bieber was disgustingly obnoxious; and his father was even worse. Ellen Page. The list went on and on. Everyone was beautiful. And Franky was down in the middle of the floor, with Michael, dancing her ass off.  
  
Erica was immediately excited and jealous at watching her lover on the dance floor. She wished they had had more time to party like that. Together. And she couldn’t deny that Franky and Michael had intense chemistry. They alternated dancing together, rubbing their bodies together in very obscene ways — but not unlike anyone else on the floor; and moving apart, across the floor to opposite ends of the club. But they always seemed to find their way back to each other. Like magnets.  
  
And Sam was definitely an incredible DJ. Erica couldn’t help but move a bit, shaking to the beat up in the booth. The music was intoxicating. Sam high-fived her several times as she did her own dance moves to the beat she was spinning, clearly enjoying it all. It was fun. Then Sam, as she had various times over the past two hours, put on a slower song. Giving the crowd a bit of a break from the frenetic energy of the dance music. And Erica watched, fascinated, at how Michael found her way back to Franky, embracing her from behind, grinding slowly against her. It was intensely erotic. They were a stunning couple. A lot of people watched them. Michael spun Franky around in her arms so that they were breast to breast. She watched Franky struggling, briefly against her. But Erica knew Michael was stronger.  
  
_Where the fuck is Stella?_ Erica was getting anxious. It was nearly three in the morning. Stella should be there by now. Franky needed some relief, some interference from Michael's focused attention. Erica stood up and banged on the glass as if anyone could hear her. Michael’s lips trailed up Franky’s neck, kissing up along her jaw. Franky pushed but Michael held her. Franky opened her eyes, looking up wildly, searching for the booth.  
  
Blue met green. Erica saw Franky see her.  
  
Erica expression was angry as she mimed, _Do I need to come down there?_ She pointed at herself, then at Franky, then made walking legs with her fingers. Franky’s frustrated struggling melted away as she smiled that smile, then laughed, shaking her head. And wrenched herself around, spinning in Michael’s arms, giving her back to Michael. Michael continued to kiss her neck, but Franky had seen Erica looking at her. Looking out for her. Franky continued to laugh as she kissed her hand, holding it up towards Erica. Then blew a succession of kisses toward the booth. Erica found herself laughing too. _How could I ever have doubted us?_  
  
Then, from nowhere, a spectacularly gorgeous, waif-like brunette appeared in front of Franky, grinding against her front, making a Franky sandwich with Michael in back. The woman grabbed Michael’s hips, as if she intended this threesome all along, and kissed Franky on the mouth. Deeply. And Franky kissed her back.  
  
Erica tried to be outraged. It was ridiculous — this whole scene was completely over the top. But the connection she felt when she and Franky had just made eye contact was deep. And real. Even though the woman was fucking criminally beautiful. And vaguely familiar. One of Michael’s famous friends? An actress? Local? American?  
  
And then Stella appeared. _Thank you Jesus!_ Erica actually said out loud, but no one heard her. She watched as Stella moved up behind the brunette, who turned in the embrace, momentarily surprised that “Franky” was now behind her. Franky slipped out from between the woman and Michael, and now the woman was in the middle of the sandwich. She didn’t seem to notice. Erica continued to watch Stella and the brunette making out, as Michael made a surreptitious exit, following Franky.  
  
Minutes later, Franky appeared next to her in the booth.  
  
“Hey,” Franky said, watching her carefully. She was drenched in sweat. Her clothes clung to her, hair plastered to her head. It was a super sexy look for Franky. She shook her head, splattering Erica with sweat. “How you going?”  
  
Erica removed her headphones. “I’m good. How you going? Danced out yet?” She smiled at her worried partner.  
  
“Seriously, Erica.”  
  
Erica did a quick emotional weather forecast, surprised to find herself calm. Even balmy. “Who was that you kissed?” It wasn’t Michael. That mattered to Erica. She pulled Franky to her, between her knees, as she continued to rest comfortably on the stool Sam had provided for her.  
  
Franky blushed. “Rose Byrne, Erica. Rose fucking Byrne. You would have kissed her too,” Franky explained.  
  
“She was pretty hot. So why should I know who she is?”  
  
“ _Damages? Bridesmaids? Neighbors? Spy?_ ” Franky listed several of the movie star’s latest endeavors.  
  
Erica’s eyebrows lifted in comprehension. “Ohhhhhh. Yeah. She is super hot. I definitely would have kissed her.” She pulled Franky in closer, then took her own turn kissing her partner.  
  
Something had clearly changed for Erica. That harpy-like raging jealousy wasn’t there. Franky didn’t question it. She kissed back. Deeply. Thankfully.  
  
Sam tapped her on the shoulder. “I’m taking a break. Feel free to use the ‘phones, but don’t touch anything else. It’s on auto for the next 20 minutes. If you leave, make sure the door locks behind you.”  
  
Franky pulled the headphones on, then put Erica’s on her, and they danced together in the booth for awhile. Until Erica, pressed against Franky’s front, froze.  
  
“What, baby!? What is it?” Franky instantly panicked. “Talk to me!”  
  
“They moved! Did you feel it?” Erica yelled and pressed Franky’s hands to her belly. “Can you feel that?”  
  
Franky didn’t feel anything but Erica’s excitement. Which was contagious. “No.” She smiled, relaxing, her mouth against Erica’s neck. “But maybe they like the disco. Like their mama.” She bit her. “Let’s go get naked.” She pulled off their headphones.  
  
“Are you sure you’re ready to go? It’s only half time.” It was pushing three in the morning; but if Sam was taking a break, there were at least another two, possibly three hours of music coming. Erica had had the massage, and a nap before they left the house at half past midnight. But she was pretty beat. She turned in Franky’s arms to take one last look at the dance floor. Neither Stella, Michael nor the movie star were anywhere to be seen.  
  
Franky was sure. Whatever had pushed Erica around the corner to not being jealous was super, super sexy. Not having to reassure her partner gave her more room to just be hungry for their raw carnality together. “Yeah,” Franky whispered against Erica’s ear, licking it. “I need to fuck you senseless. You not jealous is so fucking hot, Erica. I can’t wait to fuck you.”  
  
Erica groaned, completely melting in Franky’s arms. She reached over her shoulder, grabbing a handful of Franky’s hair and pressed their mouths together in a hungry kiss. She pulled Franky’s hand down, under her dress, guiding her to her knickers. Franky wasted no time, slipping that hand into the front of Erica’s panties, finding her hot, wet, eager.  
  
Erica broke the kiss and opened her eyes. Below them, the crowd writhed and gyrated on the dance floor. They could feel the beat pulsing through them, but due to the soundproofing of the booth, couldn’t hear the music. Franky’s hand continued to work magic between her legs. It was intensely erotic. In barely a few minutes she was whimpering. She put one foot up against the side of the booth hoping to give Franky a better angle. It worked, as Franky’s fingers slid deep inside her.  
  
Franky could see Erica’s face reflected in the glass of the booth, her brow contorted in ecstasy, overlaid against the crowed writhing on the dance floor. It was one of the most erotic images she had ever seen. She fucked Erica harder, faster. “Come for me, baby.”  
  
“Uhhhhhhaaahh!” Erica’s teeth were gritted, trying not to scream out loud, as she walked her other foot up the wall, pressing herself back into Franky, shuddering through the orgasm.  
  
It took all of Franky’s athletic skills to keep them upright, one hand clamped between Erica’s thighs, and the other around her middle. It was the extra weight that was awkward to manage, the extended belly. But damn if Franky wasn’t going to make this work. Their first. Public. Sex. _YES_! But then she felt herself teetering back, off balance. SHIT! Erica was still shaking in her arms.  
  
And then a solid back pressed against hers, easily anchoring her upright. Franky glanced over her shoulder. Sam Ronson had returned to the booth, put her headphones on, and resumed her DJ duties while nonchalantly, literally, having Franky’s back.  
  
Franky laughed out loud, still holding Erica through the aftershocks. Erica’s hands held Franky’s forearm still anchored between her thighs.  
  
“What’s so funny?” Erica panted.  
  
“Just happy, baby. I love you. So much.” Erica smiled as she finally released Franky’s hand. Franky turned Erica around and kissed her. Deeply. Then pulled back to watch Erica take in Sam pressed against them.  
  
And she blushed. “I guess I’ll need to thank Sam tomorrow for having your back.”  
  
“Yep.” Franky kissed her again. Pressed her lips against Erica’s ear. “What do you think about fucking in the DJ booth?”  
  
Erica smiled against Franky’s ear. Bit it. “I don’t think we’re finished,” she said, dropping to her knees and unzipping Franky’s slacks.  
  
****************************************  
  
The next morning, Franky and Erica where the first awake in the house, aside from the staff. They had left the club before Michael and Stella, and neither had consumed any alcohol. Still, it was pushing 11:00am and they were wrapping up their light breakfast of fruit and cereal when Michael wandered into kitchen.  
  
“God, Maya. I would kill for an egg-white omelette. Spinach. And a mimosa.” She yawned and smiled at the cook, who immediately set about pulling together the requested meal. She sat down next to Erica. “How was it up in the booth?”  
  
“Amazing,” Erica responded. “Quite an eyeful.” She turned to face Michael. “And how did the evening end for you?”  
  
“Mmmmm. I bet.” Michael yawned again. “My evening? Surprising.” She winked at Erica and turned to Franky. “How was your last hurrah, mama bear?”  
  
“Wicked,” Franky said. “You’ll never guess what Erica let me do to her in the DJ booth.”  
  
“Oh god!” Erica and Michael groaned simultaneously, agreeing in a rare instance.  
  
“Didn’t need that visual first thing a.m., Doyle. Before my mimosa.” Maya wisely placed it in front of Michael at that moment. Erica just got up and left the table. Michael downed her drink in one swallow, then stood up to fix herself another.  
  
“So what happened with you and Stel and Rose Byrne?” Franky pried. “That was fucking hot!”  
  
“Nothing happened with me and Stella and Rose Byrne,” Michael answered cryptically, not making eye contact. She flipped through the Sunday Times that was on the table, looking for the society section.  
  
Franky waited. Michael continued to peruse the paper until she found what she was looking for. Then she began to read.  
  
“Why are you ignoring me?” Franky asked, knowing it was rhetorical. Michael was in her own world. It felt a lot like the early days, when Franky had first started at deMedici Law and Michael had a habit of dismissing her wordlessly. Even before they started having sex. “FIne. Fuck off, deMedici.” Franky rose from the table as a tall, gorgeous, brown-skinned man in party clothes from the night before entered.  
  
Michael looked up. Smiled at him and stood as he walked toward her. “Hollis,” she said, and kissed him. Deeply. He slipped his hand inside Michael’s silk robe. Franky could see she was naked under it. He dipped her back, prolonging the kiss, then pulled her upright.  
  
“I hate that I have to run, but I’m supposed to be on a plane in two hours. Can I call you when I get settled?”  
  
“Of course,” Michael said, smiling at him. He kissed her again and turned to leave, only then noticing Franky.  
  
“Oh. Damn, girl! I didn’t even see you. Rude!” He was perfectly charming. American. Franky frowned. “Hollis Denton,” he introduced himself, holding his hand out to Franky. She didn’t reciprocate. Just stared at Michael.  
  
“This is my mate, Franky Doyle.” Michael tightened her robe where Hollis had loosened it. “She’s staying here while her flat is being renovated. Franky, this is Hollis Denton Cavalli. We met last night. He’s with Amazon US.” Michael said this as if this was anything either of them cared about. As if they usually discussed who was who at international business firms over meals. As if this was usually who Michael showed up with at breakfast.  
  
“Right. Should have recognized you,” Franky said sarcastically. “Too bad you can’t stay. I’d love to hear about your role at Amazon US.”  
  
Hollis stared between the two, clear he was missing something but definitely feeling the tension. You could have cut it with a knife. He was relieved that he actually had to go. “Maybe next time.” He kissed Michael on the cheek. “I’ll call you.” And he was gone.  
  
“What the fuck happened to Stella?”  
  
“I’m guessing she went home.” Michael went back to reading the paper as Maya served her omelette.  
  
Franky could almost see red. Michael had done so, so many disrespectful things over the past few days; but particularly last night at the club. Franky knew they were all getting a little stir crazy. But Michael had crossed several lines. And of everyone staying at the penthouse these days, the hostess had the least excuse to be playing games. It was time for Franky and Erica to go home. She started to curse Michael a blue streak, but decided her energy would be better spent packing up her partner and getting them back to the flat. She turned and left the room.  
  
Not what Michael was expecting at all. Since her planned seduction hadn't worked with Franky at the club, she had been spoiling for a fight. The vacuum created by Franky’s energy leaving the room momentarily took Michael’s breath with it too. “Franky!” She called after her mate, but it was barely a croak. By the time she got to the kitchen entry, the lift was closing.  
  
Franky whipped her mobile out of her hoody pocket and texted Stella.  
  
_Where are you? Are you right?_  
  
Almost immediately, Stella texted her back.  
  
_Four Seasons. You aren’t going to believe it. I spent the night with Rose frickin Byrne. I’ll call you later._  
  
Franky’s laugh came out more like a sob. Stella seemed right. Franky was going to have to deal with whatever was really happening between her and Michael, then. And who was this fucking Hollis guy? But not now. Now she was taking Erica home.  
  
*******************************************  
  
“Stace. I want to go out.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can trust you to behave.”  
  
“You can. I will. I promise.” She was getting itchy. Besides. It was Stace that needed to behave. And she had been. That Doyle bitch had been out of the office for nearly two months. Which is why it might be ok to go out for a bit. Get some fresh air. Hopefully she was gone for good and everything would go back to normal.  
  
“Why should I trust you now?”  
  
“Come on, Stace. I have done everything you’ve asked me to do. Everything.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“Just like old times, right?”  
  
“Okay, you little shite. Don’t disappoint me.” She unlocked the padlock on the bedroom door and let the girl out.  



	12. So Afraid of You

Franky was relieved to be back at work full time. There was a fresh vase of flowers on her desk, sent by Erica. There had been no attempts at any violence against her or her property for more than two months. One bodyguard was outside across the street in a car, not even inside the building. She was anxious to get back to business as usual. She pulled out the file from Gia Totonchi’s mum, the girl from Hunter Home. They were several months behind due to Franky’s accident and subsequent recovery time.  
  
She looked up from the papers. Stacey was leaning against her doorway, smiling at her. “Welcome back. Welcome back, Franky Doyle.”  
  
“Thank you, Stace. Great to be back.”  
  
“Don’t make yourself crazy catching up. Michael actually picked up a lot of the casework you couldn’t get to while you were out. So just check in with her about pulling things back onto your docket. And let her have anything you don’t want. She’s far beyond competent, as you know. “  
  
Franky smiled disingenuously. She hadn’t spoken to Michael since she and Erica had moved back to St. Kilda. “Absolutely, Stace.” That was two weeks ago.  And it wasn’t as if Michael hadn’t tried. Franky was just still straight tossed and didn’t have anything constructive to say yet.  
  
“She’s putting in about 20 hours a week now,” Stacey whispered conspiratorially. “Twenty hours a week! And I’ll take it, if she’ll keep doing it!”  
  
Franky continued the fake enthusiasm. “Sounds awesome, Stace. You sure you even need me back?”  
  
Stacey laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my right hand girl, Franky. No way I could do without you. Who’d laugh at my stupid jokes?”  
  
Franky’s smile was genuine this time. “Alright. Hit me.”  
  
“Why did the blonde scale the glass wall?”  
  
“Why, Stace.”  
  
“To see what was on the other side.”  
  
Franky laughed despite herself, picturing Erica laughing too. “Happy hour tonight, Stace?” She had missed the stupid jokes. Maybe Erica could join them.  
  
“Definitely!”  
  
“Did I hear someone mention happy hour?” Michael now stood in Franky’s doorway next to Stacey.  
  
Stacey practically melted. As she seemed to do, constantly, in Michael deMedici’s presence. “Sure, Michael. You want to join us for happy hour after we close up office?”  
  
“Definitely.” She stared pointedly at Franky, who looked down at her computer, pretending to focus on email.  
  
“Great, great! Okay! Okay!” Stuttering Stacey was back. Franky was tempted to look up, but she didn’t. “Well, I’m going back to the salt mine!” And Stacey was gone.  
  
“You can’t keep avoiding me, Doyle.”  
  
Franky scoffed. “I can.”  
  
Michael approached Franky’s desk, planting both palms on it, leaning over. She was wearing one of her trademark white linen shirts, but had taken to buttoning it appropriately. Franky didn’t look for the cleavage as she would have before. She continued to focus on her email.  
  
Michael pushed the laptop closed in Franky’s face and reached out for her. Franky stood abruptly and backed away, finally looking up and making eye contact. She was angry.  
  
“What the fuck, deMedici?”  
  
“Will you talk to me?”  
  
“No!”  
  
Michael circled the desk. Franky walked the other way, staying equidistant. “Jesus, Doyle.” Michael looked down, crossed her arms. “I don’t know what to do with you!”  
  
“What to DO with me, deMedici? How about being my mate? How about not twisting up my partner? How about not being a jackass to my sister?” Franky barked. “Who the fuck was that guy? Hollis Cavalli? What was that, Michael?” Franky stared at her.  
  
“What do you want me to say? That I’ve been an arrogant, manipulative, scheming arse? I have!” Michael moved to the door, closed it, leaned against it. She looked up, her face worn, instead of cocky as when she’d entered. She wiped the back of her hand across her brow, then palmed her face briefly. “You ditched me at the club. I was angry.”  
  
“You fucking came on to me! What were you thinking?!?”  
  
Michael continued to look at her, her gaze fiery and at the same time starting to chill. “We were having fun. We had our groove back. It was like before. Before Erica. I know you felt it,” she said, her voice low and… threatening?  
  
Franky was knocked back on her heels by the emotion behind Michael’s words. _We had our groove back._ What? “Michael….” She blew out a shaky breath. This was not a conversation she wanted to have with Michael deMedici. Ever. She didn’t want to look too closely at her own feelings about it, let alone hear the truth of Michael’s. “There is only Erica for me. You have to know that by now. And we can’t do this here.”  
  
“No. We can’t. Not here. Not anywhere. I get it. I FUCKING GET IT.” She left.  
  
Franky sat back down at her desk, her head in her hands, grasping handfuls of her own hair. Pulling at it. Hard. Then she opened her laptop and started to wade through the backlog of email.  
  
After hours, Franky and Stacey met up at their usual happy hour a few blocks over from the office. Erica begged off — nearly seven months into a twin pregnancy and she was exhausted all the time. The babies were super active at night and she wasn’t getting much sleep. Michael made an excuse about forgetting another appointment she had after work. Franky was sad to realize how relieved she was at the lie; at Michael’s absence in the casual space. She was able to truly focus and enjoy the time with Stacey.  
  
Neither Franky Doyle nor Stacey Arrington noticed the slight figure watching from the alley next to the bar. The girl gritted her teeth and plotted her next move as she sprinted the opposite way down the street, making sure to arrive at home well before her flatmate.  
  
************************************  
  
After her guests left, Michael opted to stay on at the penthouse instead of going back to the loft. She was relieved to have easy access to the lap pool again; and without her mother around, it was comforting to be at home. She’d grown up there.  
  
She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, letting the tears come. Letting herself feel the pain of final rejection. It was novel, the sharp aches in her chest, her belly, her head. The lack of control. She hated it. But she examined it carefully, vowing to never let it happen again.  
  
An hour later she was still trembling, the tears still coming. She went into her bathroom and took out a prescription bottle of valium, dumped the twenty or so pills into her palm and went down to the bar to pour herself a tumbler full of vodka. She took her glass and her fist full of pills out to the terrace and sat by the lap pool, staring into its depths. After several minutes, she put the glass of liquor on the tiles by her chair, as well as the pills, stripped off all her clothing and dove into the pool. She swam for an hour. Than another. Than longer, until she could barely pull herself out.  
  
She woke a couple of hours later, shivering in the moonlight on a chaise lounge on the terrace. Someone, probably Maya, had covered her with a soft, lambswool blanket; but it wasn’t enough. She pulled it tightly around herself and moved back up to her room, to her bed. Then she called her father.  
  
“Papa.”  
  
“Si, Bellissima. Come stai?”  
  
“I’m coming to Roma, Papa. I need about a month to wrap up some things, then I want to come there.”  
  
“Fantastico! Bella! I can’t wait to see you.”  
  
“Where is Elena?”  
  
“I’ll send her to the Riviera. How long will you stay?”  
  
“Depends. Maybe…” she hesitated. She’d always been honest with her father. And he always took care of her. “…about nine months.”  
  
He chuckled. “Si, cara mia. I’ll take care of you. You know that.”  
  
“I know, Papa. If it turns out I don’t need the nine months, I’m thinking it may be time for me to go back to the family business.”  
  
“Aaaaah. Cara mia. You are making me so very happy. You always do. Except when you try to leave us. Ti voglio bene, bella.”  
  
“Ti voglio bene, Papa.”  
  
*******************************************  
  
It was a little after 8pm when Franky arrived home after happy hour, after her first day back at work. She scooted into bed trying to be quiet. Erica was sound asleep on her side. Wrapping herself around her partner, Franky couldn’t resist putting a gentle palm on the rounded belly. Immediately she felt an answering tap from inside. She moved her hand. Another tap. She moved her hand. Another tap. Faster now. Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptap.  
  
“Franky,” Erica murmured sleepily, turning on her back with a groan. “It’s not even them keeping me awake. It’s you. Playing. Knock it off.”  
  
Franky sat up on her knees and placed both palms on Erica’s belly and felt two answering taps.  
  
“Foot. Thing One on the left. Hand, Thing Two on the right.” She smiled. She was deliriously happy playing with the babies. She couldn’t help it.  
  
Erica sighed. “Turn on the light.” Franky did, then continued to play tag with the twins across her partner’s belly. “How did it go today?”  
  
Franky paused in her movement, growing serious, then laid back down next to Erica, kissing her on the cheek. “Michael was there.”  
  
“And?” Erica pushed herself up on one elbow and laboriously turned to face her partner. The babies continued to move around, poking limbs, extremities against their confines, seeking their external playmate. Erica belched.  
  
Franky watched the alien movements ripple across Erica’s stomach and reached for her belly again. Erica caught her hand, pulled it to her lips, kissed her palm. “What happened?” She asked, softly.  
  
Franky closed her eyes, brow scrunched. “I don’t know. Can we talk about this on the weekend? I need a bit to think about it.”  
  
“Franky…” Erica wanted to push, but she was tired. Even though she had her own issues with Michael, she knew how important the friendship was to Franky. She’d been off kilter since they’d left the penthouse, with the radio silence between them. “What did you say to her?”  
  
“I told her I didn’t want to talk to her.”  
  
“Was that true?”  
  
“No. But I didn’t want to talk there. In the office. Not like that.”  
  
“What did she say?”  
  
“She admitted to being an insufferable prick.”  
  
Erica was surprised. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah. But that was about as much as we were going to be able to cover at the time.” _Sin of omission, Franky Doyle. You should tell her._  
  
“When are you going to talk to her again?”  
  
“I don’t know. She should be in tomorrow. She’s putting in 20 hours a week now, so I’ll likely see her every day.”  
  
“Hmm.” Erica lay back down with her back to Franky. “Ok. Let’s go to sleep.”  
  
Franky turned out the light and wrapped herself around her partner, stealthily sliding her hand up Erica’s belly. The hand was deftly caught and held still. Franky smiled into Erica’s hair and they fell into a deep slumber together.  
  
**********************************  
  
Michael didn’t actually return to the office until three days later. She had put herself on Franky’s calendar to talk through and transfer back case files. Eleven a.m. rolled around and Franky sat at her desk waiting. At five after, Michael appeared at her door.  
  
“I’ve set us up in the conference room,” she said, evenly. The Ice Queen was back.  
  
Franky shook her head as if to clear her vision. She hadn’t seen the Ice Queen since… _Right. Last time I dumped her_. Franky hadn’t actually dumped her. But she knew that was how Michael saw it. _Shit_.  
  
“Fine,” Franky responded. “But we could have met here. Like we usually do, deMedici.”  
  
Michael simply turned and walked away.  
  
They sat in the Femlaw conference room together, Michael methodically talking through each file with Franky, updating her on progress. Never looking directly at her. Franky attempted to break the ice a couple of times by transitioning into a more casual communication style. She even tried to make a joke. Michael was unmoved. Completely cold.  
  
After about two hours, they were coming to the end of their conversation about which files were going back onto Franky’s docket, when she noticed a pattern in the case files Michael kept for herself. They were all on queue to finish within the next 10 - 15 days.  
  
As deMedici pushed the final file across the table and moved to gather her things, Franky trapped her hand beneath her own.  
  
”Look at me.”  
  
Michael did. Franky winced. There was _nothing_ there.  
  
“Come on, deMedici,” she whispered. Barely trusting her own voice. “Don’t shut me out completely.”  
  
“What do you want, Doyle?”  
  
“I want you to remember who we are, Michael. You’re my best mate.”  
  
Michael slid her hand from under Franky’s and gathered her things. “No. I’m not.”  
  
Franky was still between Michael and the door. “Yes you are, deMedici.” Michael stopped in front of her, waiting for Franky to move so she could leave the conference room. “Don’t do this. You know I lo…”  
  
Franky found herself slammed against the door, Michael’s hand in a vice-like grip around her neck. Franky couldn’t breathe.  
  
“Don’t you dare…” Michael hissed, her composure breaking. “Don’t!” She stared at Franky, brow creased, the swirling pain and emotion in her eyes really open to Franky for the first time. Michael continued to hold her, choking her, until Franky’s brain began to shut down. Franky didn’t struggle. Not once. Michael finally let go and Franky fell to the floor, gasping for breath.  
  
Michael left the room. Minutes later she left the office.  
  
Franky had to take pains to hide the bruised hand-print across her throat for the next several days, until it faded  
  
The following Monday Franky waited patiently, but with anxiety, for Michael to arrive at the Femlaw office. She showed up after lunch, at 1:00pm. Franky took a deep breath and approached Michael’s desk.  
  
“You have a minute?”  
  
“Yes.” Michael didn’t look at her, but began pulling out the files she was working on.  
  
Franky leaned a hip against the desk. “I noticed that all of your cases wrap up in ten days or so.”  
  
Michael didn’t respond.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
Michael arranged the papers on her desk, but still didn’t look up. “I’ve finished my degree. It’s time for me to move on, do something with it. I’ll be leaving at the end of the month. I haven’t had a chance to tell Stacey yet. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it before I do.”  
  
Franky mentally kicked herself. Michael’s graduation ceremony was the past Saturday. She had been so caught up in the drama that she had completely missed a major milestone for her best mate. “Fuck, deMedici. I’m so sorry. It was on the calendar and I completely blew it.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter…”  
  
“It does.”  
  
Michael didn’t respond. She started to read the papers in front of her.  
  
Franky took her hand, holding tightly as Michael tried to pull away without being too obvious in the middle of an office full of young attorney’s and interns. “I’m not giving up on you,” Franky said quietly. “Look at me.”  
  
Michael did, finally. There was a solid wall there.  
  
Franky’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry I hurt you. But I’m not afraid of you. I never will be.”  
  
Michael’s eyes flickered to the mostly faded bruises across Franky’s neck. “You should be.”  
  
“And I’ll always be here for you.” She let go Michael’s hand and walked away.  
  
Michael returned to her work.  
  
Minutes later Franky was back. “That doesn’t mean I’m not a bit tossed myself, deMedici. I don’t want your security guys around anymore,” she said quietly, mindful of prying ears. “If you aren’t my mate, I don’t want your help. So tell your guys to get lost.”  
  
Michael looked at her, confused. “That doesn’t even make sense. This would be the perfect time to strike. Your defenses are down. Being pissed at me doesn’t make you in less danger.”  
  
“It’s been nearly eleven weeks and nothing from our little stalker. Not a peep. I’ll talk to Stella about next steps. I can’t just sit around forever waiting, with a nanny, for someone to come after me. I’ll figure something else out. But until you want to rejoin the land of the living, butt out!”  
  
“Not a chance, Doyle,” Michael called after her retreating form. Meaning it both ways.  
  
Minutes later Franky was back. “You never said where you’re going.”  
  
“No, I didn’t.”  
  
“So where are you going?”  
  
“None of your business, Doyle.” Michael continued to work through her final files.  
  
Franky went back to her corner and stayed this time.  
  
**************************************  
  
Franky arrived home straight after work to find Erica and Nic in the nursery, putting final touches on the mural. Everything else was in place. Erica was almost through her seventh month of pregnancy, and it was pretty much touch and go from this point on with twins. Ideally you carry them to term, since they are crowded for space and are likely to come in a little below single baby birth weight. But the best thing was to take it easy for the final two months, give the babies all the energy they needed to grow.  
  
They had had a long talk about Erica’s career, maternity leave. Partner leave for Franky. It was Erica who finally stated emphatically that she wanted to resign her position and stay at home for the first couple of years. She was on private insurance and didn’t need the state coverage. She really wanted to be a mother, not miss anything for the first two years, at least. Unless it drove her nuts. Then they would reconsider.  
  
“Nic!” Franky mustered her bravado. She had actually cried half the way home. DeMedici was breaking her heart. And the irony was not lost on her at all.  
  
“Franky!” Veronica, Erica’s younger sister, threw both arms around her sister-in-law’s neck, kissing her loudly on both cheeks.  
  
Erica was in a rocking chair, supervising Nic’s work. Her belly was huge. Franky made her way over to the chair and kissed her partner on the lips. Erica held her face, immediately seeing the reddened eyes and chalky complexion that NIc had completely missed. “What happened?”  
  
Franky shook her head. It wasn’t the time, with Nic around. She kissed Erica’s palm and backed away. “I’m having a beer. Fancy a ginger alel honey? Anything for you, NIc?”  
  
“I’ll have what you’re having,” Nic responded with her usual cheery demeanor, completely oblivious to the heaviness belying Franky’s bravado.  
  
They discussed the nursery and Nic’s contribution. Franky managed to get the twins to play a game of tag with her, much to Nic’s delight. They were usually most active after 9pm, rarely as early as this at barely seven. And they talked about names. Erica had chosen some, Franky approved. But no one would know until the babies were born. They talked about Nic’s second year in their father’s law office. Until finally Franky moved them to the kitchen so she could start dinner. Nic was clear she wasn’t staying and finally said her good-byes.  
  
Erica planted herself at the dining table, waiting for dinner to be served, wondering what she had done to deserve Franky Doyle. “So what happened? You finally talked to her, yeah?”  
  
“You reckon?” Franky said, sarcastically. She was still wrestling her emotions under control. She wasn’t ready to talk about this but couldn’t see how to avoid it.  
  
Erica pushed herself out of the chair and approached Franky’s back as she worked on a stir fry. She threw in some raw chicken and the pan sizzled loudly, flames emerging from below the wok. Erica put her hand gently against the back of her partner’s neck, massaging there. “You dodged the conversation over the weekend. You want to start with what happened last week?”  
  
Franky took a deep breath, then exhaled. “The Ice Queen returneth,” she said. Her voice was brittle. “And we missed her fucking graduation on Saturday.”  
  
“Oh honey.” Erica leaned her forehead against the back of Franky’s head. “I’m so sorry. I totally spaced that.” She wrapped her arms around Franky’s waist, as much as the pregnant belly poking out would allow. “Tell me what happened.”  
  
“Last week I told her she was being a complete arse. To you. To me. To Stella.” She took a breath. “And who the fuck was that guy?”  
  
“What guy?”  
  
“Right. You had left the kitchen. Never mind. So that’s when she admitted to being a prick. No apology, mind you, just the owning up to it.”  
  
_Must be tough without the make up fucking,_ Erica thought cattily. She had moved beyond actual concern about Franky having feelings for Michael that might endanger their relationship. But she was still wanting to scratch Michael’s eyes out half the time.  
  
Franky continued to mind the stir-fry. “And Monday, total Ice Queen. She would barely look me in the eye. It was like I was a minion or something.” Franky plated the food and carried it to the table, serving Erica and then herself. “Today she told me she’s leaving at the end of the month. That’s in two weeks, Erica. And she won’t tell me where she’s going.”  
  
Erica was quickly trying to sort through the pieces. Part of the story was definitely missing, given the bereft expression Franky had when she got home earlier. “Leaving, leaving the firm? Leaving the city? Leaving the continent?”  
  
“Don’t know.”  
  
Erica pondered the pieces. _Michael leaving the planet, ostensibly. Admission of prickness. Ice Queen returneth._ Somewhere between admission of fault and Ice Queen, Michael had been hurt. Deeply. By Franky. “So back up a bit. What happened after she owned up? What did you say? And where does the guy fit into the story?” She was talking with her mouth full, which she despised, but she was starving. And Franky's cooking was amazing. “What did you say to her, Franky?”  
  
Franky sat back, put her fork down, and sighed. “You saw how she was at the club. She manipulated you into letting me go, going with me. Then she was all over me all night. She knew she was wrong. Then she ditched Stel. I called her on it. All of it. That’s when she admitted she was an ‘arrogant, manipulative scheming arse,’ to quote exactly. She seemed to think her attentions were wanted. I told her that you are the only one I will ever want.” She looked up at Erica, trying to remain stoic.  
  
Erica put her fork down and leaned back. “Oh. Honey. You broke her heart,” she said softly. _I told you she was in love with you._  
  
“FUCK!” One tear escaped. “I never lied to her. I told her I loved you from the beginning. It was always you.”  
  
“She didn’t know she loved you, honey. She didn’t know until it was too late.” _I know a little about that myself. But I got a second chance._ “I can’t even be angry at her, Franky. I almost was her.”  
  
Franky stood up. Her breath hitched. “I’m sorry,” she said. Another tear escaped. “I’m fucking sorry.” She looked around disoriented. “I need some air. I need a cigarette. I’m going down to the 7-11.” She headed for the door.  
  
_And now your heart is breaking, too._ But Erica couldn’t move fast enough to catch her partner. She called out as Franky reached the door, “Hazelnut gelato, please! And take your mobile!” The door slammed. Then Franky came back in, got her mobile and was gone again.  
  
As the elevator descended, Franky tried to absorb everything Erica had said. Everything, deep down, Franky had hoped wasn’t true. And she was, truly, heartbroken about hurting her friend, possibly losing her. She had been honest. She’d never said anything to deMedici except that Erica was it for her. Done.  
  
But that didn’t mean deMedici hadn’t grown on her. Severely. She did love the woman. As her dearest friend. Yes they had chemistry. Yes she liked to flirt with Michael, play with her. She thought it was mutual play, not fatally serious. Yet Erica had told her, time and time again. And Franky hadn’t wanted to believe it. She passed it off as rantings of a demented jealous spouse.  
  
The elevator stopped and Franky stormed across the lobby and out the front door, only to see deMedici security stationed in a Lincoln Town Car across the street. She strode up to the drivers’ side window and knocked. It slid down silently.  
  
“Call her. Tell her if you are not gone in five minutes, I am calling the police and reporting you for harassment.”  
  
The beefy, no-neck rent-a-cop flipped open his mobile — _he has a fucking flip phone! seriously deMedici?_ — and autodialed. “She says she’s going to call the cops if I’m not gone in five minutes.” Silence. “Yes Boss.” The window slid back up, the engine fired, and he pulled away.  
  
Franky pulled out her mobile and texted Michael.  
  
_Your rent-a-cop has a fucking flip phone, deMedici. Bring him into the 21st century and I might reconsider. NOT!_  
  
She sent the text without thinking. Michael had become that much a fixture in her life — Franky had come to take her for granted. She couldn’t wrap her head around Michael being gone. But she went back over Erica’s words. _You broke her heart. She didn’t know until it was too late. I almost was her._ Franky broke into a jog and made quick time the two blocks to the market, bought the cigarettes and gelato. Took the sweet treat up to Erica. Then went back down to the beach to smoke.  
  
An hour and three cigarettes later she was back in the flat. It was nearly 10pm. Erica was fast asleep. The entire pint of gelato was gone.  
  
Franky was exhausted. She took a shower and brushed her teeth for several minutes, ridding her body and mouth of as much of the tobacco odor as was humanly possible. She had a headache. She hadn’t had a cigarette since before Wentworth. But it hit the spot tonight. Then she slid into bed, curling herself around her soulmate. She put one hand on her belly, smiling when she immediately felt the tap. Then Erica’s hand stilled hers.  
  
“Are you ok, Franky?”  
  
“Do you love me, Erica?”  
  
“Always.”  
  
“Even when I’m breaking other girls’ hearts?”  
  
“Especially when you’re not breaking mine.”  
  
“Never gonna happen.”  
  
“Then life is perfect.”  
  
Franky was quiet for a few minutes. “What should I do?”  
  
“Give her some space. She’s going to have to decide for herself what she can accept.”  
  
“I do care for her.”  
  
“I know baby.”  
  
*************************************  
  
Stacey’s girl had been outside the whole time, on the beach in St. Kilda, watching and waiting. She practically bounced with glee when Franky dismissed the security guard. It was what she’d been waiting for. She followed Franky to the 7-11 and watched her smoking on the beach.  
  
That Doyle bitch had only been back in the office for two weeks and Stacey was a fucking mewling nightmare, staying out till all hours drinking. Alcohol! She hated the way it smelled on the breath. And all she talked about was Franky Franky Franky. And that stupid Michael. But Michael was a deMedici, so no fucking with that one. And she was leaving soon anyway.  
  
If she could get rid of the Doyle cunt, she and Stacey could get back to being who they were supposed to be. Together. Just the two of them. Just like old times.


	13. Whatcha Gonna Do

Michael sat in her black Mercedes at the curb just south of Franky’s flat. This was her third evening there. She’d followed Franky home from the office every evening after she had dismissed deMedici security. She sank low in the car, and waited.  
  
Around 8 pm, Stacey’s car approached the front of the building and stopped, letting Franky out. Franky slowly made her way up the walk to the door and swiped her fob against the lock. Fucking completely predictably, a small, lithe, hooded figure strolled casually by watching Franky go in and stop to check her mailbox in the lobby. The girl skirted the building and went round back to the public access beach.  
  
_Fanculo! How can she be so obtuse? One look over her shoulder and she would have seen her!_ Michael fumed. So far the girl wasn’t doing anything. Just waiting and watching until the wee hours of the night. But Franky wasn’t paying attention at all. She thought about calling her or texting, but decided against it. Michael was ready to cut all ties once she fixed this little situation.  No more interaction. She didn’t want Franky Doyle creeping back under her skin.  
  
It was early December so the days were long and warm, and the girl didn’t leave until almost midnight. On this third night, Michael decided to try stalking the stalker. Risky, as she wasn’t a very good driver. But her stupid security guys hadn’t seen the stalker in the weeks they’d been watching Franky. And Michael was feeling reckless, untethered and wild. Violent. She was hoping something did happen. She wanted an excuse to squeeze the life out of that little bitch.  
  
The girl walked to Balaclava station, barely a mile from the flat, and waited for a train. Michael pulled a baseball cap out of her boot, tucked her hair up under it, pulling the long tresses out of the back slot. She donned sunglasses even though it was dark, and followed her. This was too fucking easy. Why had no one figured this out? Must be a catch. Michael watched carefully, but could see nothing unusual or amiss. The girl disembarked at Victoria Park, the stop closest to Femlaw. _WTF?_ And walked the several blocks toward the office, then several more. Definitely toward Stacey Arrington’s flat. As she stepped up to the front of the building she looked around, then dropped her hood.  
  
It was fucking Stacey.  
  
This made absolutely no sense. Michael had seen Stacey drop Franky off at the St. Kilda flat earlier in the evening, and spotted the hooded figure near the building even as Stacey was pulling away. _What the actual fuck is going on?_ She called her driver to pick her up at the Victoria Park station, then instructed him to pick up her Mercedes in St. Kilda after he dropped her off at the penthouse.  
  
Then she called her new PI, Frisco.  
  
“Is it possible there are two of them?”  
  
“Two Arringtons? Anything is possible. Let me do some digging, call you back.”  
  
She didn’t hear from him until the next morning. Immediately upon awaking, she felt the nausea that was becoming unpleasantly familiar. It was a month after her one-night encounter with Cavalli, and she was three days into a morning ritual of vomiting. She cleaned up, showered, and went to the kitchen for a smoothie. And to review Frisco’s report.  
  
Apparently, Stacey Arrington had had an identical twin, Tracey Arrington, who died in a tragic house fire when they were twelve. A house fire that killed the parents, and was apparently set by Tracey. That was when Stacey had been institutionalized for a psychotic break, followed by severe bi-polar disorder diagnosis. But a year later, she emerged allegedly mentally fit and continued on to live a very productive teen, adult and professional life. A professional life with which Michael was quite familiar.  
  
Tracey’s remains had never been recovered. A few teeth were found at the fire site, definitively Tracey’s. But no other bones or body parts. She was presumed dead and ‘buried’ — at least the teeth were — in a plot next to her mother and father.  
  
Stacey had a suspiciously nil personal life. _And likely a not dead psychotic twin. Vafanculo._ How had no one. NO ONE. Noticed this before? Which twin was actually institutionalized? Where had the other one been during that year? Which one was actually coming to the office daily? Did Stacey, or Tracey, keep the psycho locked up in the basement? And if so, how did she get out this time, to commit multiple criminal acts? This couldn’t have been the first time the psycho had caused trouble. HOW HAD NO ONE NOTICED THIS? And Where. The fuck. Did Franky. Find. These people?  
  
Michael’s adrenalin started to kick in. _I’m going to kill this bitch._ She went to the lap pool and swam for half an hour. Then dressed for work. She checked her figure in the mirror, pleased to see there was no weight gain as of yet. She wanted to be in Italy before any of that business became public knowledge. And she had barely a week of bits and pieces of case load to tie up. She arrived at the office just before 7am.  
  
********************************************************  
  
“How was happy hour?”  
  
“Come on. It’s not a big deal. It’s good for me to socialize a bit. Otherwise people will think I’m weird. They already think I’m weird.”  
  
“It’s never worried you before…”  
  
“I like Franky. She’s fun. And she laughs at our stupid jokes. And with Michael leaving, we have a lot to work out to balance the staff loss. But don’t worry, silly. Nothing comes between us. You know that, right?”  
  
“Just like old times?”  
  
“Always like old times, kid.”  
  
“Brush my hair?”  
  
“Absolutely. Put in _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_ and I’ll make us grilled cheese and tomato soup. Hair after food. K?”  
  
“K.” But her sister was not fooled. Stacey, unfortunately, had a crush. The girl knew she had to finally get rid of Franky Cunt Doyle. Soon.  
  
************************************************  
  
Erica and Franky had arrived at a detente about playtime with the twins. Morning. Before work. Which meant Franky had to wake up around 5:00am — not her forte — rather than keeping Erica awake until the wee hours of the night. The babies tended to stay pretty active after Franky had left; but since Erica was up and about her day, it wasn’t so disruptive. And they were quite as mice, now, for most of the night.  
  
This morning Franky was particularly fuzzy. Erica got up to make coffee and Franky followed her into the kitchen a few minutes later, arriving just as the espresso shot was ready. Erica was drinking herbal tea and had settled into a chair at the dining table to watch the news when Franky knelt between her legs, lifting up her gown. She kissed her stomach and received a firm push back, not the gentle tap she was accustomed to.  
  
“Hey! Did you see that?”  
  
Erica redirected her attention to her partner. “I felt it, obviously.” She watched as Franky pressed her lips to the stretched skin again. “Oh my god!”  
  
They both saw it this time. A fully formed, yet tiny, hand stretching back against Franky’s lips and then retreating quickly.  
  
Erica giggled. “I think you just got smacked in the mouth!”  
  
Franky moved to the other side of the belly and kissed it again. This time, a perfectly outlined tiny foot pushed out but didn’t retreat so quickly. Erica began to laugh hysterically.  
  
“That’s kind of creepy, babe,” Franky said, looking up at her with that cheeky grin. But Franky kept kissing her anyway, and little hands and feet smacked and kicked at her every time. This went on for several minutes until Erica was out of breath.  
  
She pushed Franky’s head away. “Ok! Stop! I can’t take any more. It’s actually not so comfortable, the aliens partying it up in there. Next time I think you should have them.”  
  
Franky kissed her. On the mouth this time and moved to the bench to prepare another shot of espresso. “Don’t get crazy,” she said over her shoulder. “Fancy some breakfast? Tomato omelette? Cheese?”  
  
“You don’t have to do that, honey. I’m loafing around most of the day. I can make my own breakfast.”  
  
“I like cooking for you.” She reached into the fridge and pulled out three eggs, some feta and selected an heirloom tomato from the fruit basket on the bench.  
  
Erica watched her partner work, humming contentedly. Franky had a lovely, strong, mezzo-soprano voice but rarely used it. Sort of Pat Benetar-ish. She was quite shy about it, actually, and clamped shut when Erica asked her to sing. So she just listened, thinking about their last few months together.  
  
The stalker appeared to be gone. The security team Michael had assigned them had been dismissed almost two weeks ago, and nothing. And she trusted Franky’s instincts when she said everything was fine. The twins seemed content to bake for at least another month, which would bring her to 9 months — well within the range of healthy twin births. They were both walking on sunshine.  
  
Except for the Michael thing. This was her last week in the office and she hadn’t yet said another word to Franky. Franky had followed Erica’s advice about giving her mate some space and time to figure things out. But time was running out. And below the sunshine in Franky’s demeanor, Erica could sense the dark cloud of worry and pain surrounding deMedici’s impending departure for parts unknown.  
  
Erica suddenly had an idea. It was probably a bad idea, but it couldn’t hurt.  
  
“Honey, is Michael still coming into the office?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And this is her last week?”  
  
“Yes. Three more days. Friday she’s finished.”  
  
“She hasn’t said anything to you.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“I’m sorry, honey.”  
  
“Me too,” Franky said as she served Erica her breakfast. “Orange juice?”  
  
“Half bubbly, please.” It was too sweet for her palate straight, since the pregnancy. She now preferred it cut with Pellegrino. She looked down at the omelette. There was bacon on the side. Heavenly pepper bacon. “You working late tonight?”  
  
“Probably go out with Stacey. We’re still trying to figure out how to plug the hole Michael is leaving on staff.”  
  
“What time does Michael usually get in?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Just curious. Thinking maybe I could bring you some lunch. Would prefer to avoid running into her.”  
  
“She’s usually in about one. Why don’t we meet somewhere downtown? I can take the train.”  
  
“Perfect.”  
  
**************************************  
  
  
Michael’s spidey senses were on high alert. Following Stacey/Tracey home last night, discovering that it was likely that the other twin had never died, was indescribably gratifying. She thought about sending a copy of her findings over to Kerry Vincent, but figured they would get a fucking warrant, grab the psycho, test the hair, and the girl would end up institutionalized. Michael wasn’t satisfied with that outcome at all. She focused all of her rage and pain on this girl and the only outcome that would work was for Michael to choke the life out of her. Personally.  
  
The following morning she had her driver rent her a Subaru wagon, then tucked her hair up under a baseball cap again. Sunglasses, hoodie, then she went down to test out her incognito look on the street in front of the law offices. As she was heading through the lobby she passed Erica Davidson, who was headed toward the penthouse lift.  
  
“Whoa! Whoa!” she hissed, turning and grabbing Erica by the arm, continuing with her on her path. Erica tried to shake her loose but Michael held her firmly. She fobbed the lift and it opened immediately. They stepped in and it started moving.  
  
“I know Michael deMedici, and she…” Erica started, defensively.  
  
“What’s happened? Is everything alright? Why are you here?”  
  
Erica stared at her blankly for a moment, and then realized it was Michael. “Why are you dressed like that? Are you going into the office today?”  
  
They stepped into the penthouse foyer and Michael removed her sunglasses and cap, her long dark tresses cascading down free from the confines.  “Did something happen to Franky?”  
  
“She’s fine, physically. But she’s torn up about you, Michael. I thought you might want to know.”  
  
Michael laughed out loud. “You have got to be kidding me. Get the fuck out of my house, Erica.” She reached over and fobbed the lift, which again, opened immediately. “Don’t make me call security.”  
  
“I know you still care about her. At least tell her where you’re going.”  
  
“Get out.”  
  
“Don’t leave without saying good-bye. You’ll regret it. And so will she. You’ll never get to redo that moment.”  
  
Michael grabbed Erica by the shoulders, pushed her gently into the lift, pushed the G button, and turned her back as the lift doors closed.  
  
Erica put her arm in between, stopping the doors from closing and stepped back into the foyer.  
  
“Look. I know this from personal experience. I walked away from Wentworth, when I realized i was in love with her, and that I was completely compromised. I walked away without saying a word. Disappeared for the rest of her sentence. Over two years. It’s a miracle I got a second chance with her. I still regret doing that; and even after we got together, that moment almost tore us apart.” She eyed Michael carefully, looking from head to foot and back up to her face. Michael seemed… extraordinarily healthy. “Are you alright?”  
  
Michael was finding this all so comical she couldn’t even be angry at Erica. It was her own fault. She’d had Franky to herself for months. But here, now, was the partner of the woman she loved, who she’d had in her grasp and let slip away, telling her to go easy, be nice, on Franky Doyle’s achey brakey heart. It was all she could do not to collapse into a heap of hysterics.  
  
“I’m fine. Go home, will you?”  
  
Erica cocked her head to the side. Something was different. Bits of seemingly random information came together in her head. She remembered Franky mentioning some guy that Michael brought home from the club. Michael’s current flush and healthy glow. And that sixth sense kicked in. The one that mothers have. “Are you pregnant, Michael?”  
  
Michael blanched. Then the Ice Queen took over. “Ok. Seriously. Get the fuck out.” She turned and ascended the stairs, leaving Erica alone in the foyer.  
  
Michael went to her room and checked Franky’s work calendar. They had started sharing their Outlook calendars again at FemLaw, and hadn’t blocked each other out since the hostilities began. Franky was meeting Stace after work. Again. Third night this week. They were probably talking about her impending departure. _Fuck both of you. But you, Stacey. I’ve got a special place in hell for you if you knew anything about this threat to Franky. And I’m betting you’ve known all along._  
  
_Goddamit Franky._  
  
She went into her wardrobe and began pulling out the things she would need in Rome.  
  
**************************************  
  
Michael showed up at FemLaw exactly at 1:00pm, relieved that Franky wasn’t in her office. She quickly finished her work — she really didn’t need to come in tomorrow at all. She decided she wouldn’t. Franky came in at 1:30, slowed as she passed Michael’s desk, even stopped momentarily. Michael ignored her. She moved on. At 4:35 exactly, Michael finished her work. She had cleared her desk earlier in the week and really just needed to pack up her satchel and leave. She went to Stacey’s office and knocked softly on the partially open door.  
  
“Michael! Michael - come in. How you going?”  
  
“Hey, Stace. Look. I’ve finished everything. I really don’t need to come in tomorrow…”  
  
“Oh no! We have a little good-bye party planned for you tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
Michael was horrified but tried not to look it. “Ahh, thanks, but sorry. Can’t make it. I’m leaving the country in a few days and I’ve got a lot to manage between here and there. I really can’t take the time tomorrow. Sorry.”  
  
Stacey was speechless.  
  
“Okay. Ciao, Stace. Thanks so much. You’ve been a peach.” She didn’t try to hide the deep sarcasm, enjoying the completely confounded look on Stacey’s face. Michael smiled at her and left.  
  
She was pulling open the office door to head out to her rented Subaru when she found herself in Franky’s office doorway. Franky looked up at her, startled. Michael’s brow furrowed, as she tried to figure out how exactly she ended up here.  
  
She looked at Franky. “I’m out, Doyle. Won’t be back. I don’t know what I’m doing in here,” she confessed, softly.  
  
Franky stood up. “Tomorrow is your last day.”  
  
“Not anymore.” She watched Franky digest this.  
  
“Where are you going? When will you be back?” Franky seemed a bit desperate. Franky was never desperate.  
  
Michael felt herself starting to unravel. She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was looking down at the floor; couldn’t bear to meet Franky’s eyes. “Ciao, bella,” she said, and walked away. A few seconds later she felt a sharp tag square in the middle of her back. She stopped and looked down. Franky’s stress ball plunked on the ground between her heels. She kept walking.  
  
At five o’clock she parked across the street from Franky and Erica’s flat. She had changed into a black tee shirt, black leggings, black sneakers and a black baseball cap. She sunk down in the seat and waited.  
  
At about 6:15, the hooded girl crossed directly in front of her car to get to the building, then went around behind following the public access beach path.  
  
At about eight o’clock, Stacey pulled up and Franky got out of her car. It was sunset. They talked a few minutes more through the window and then Stacey pulled away. Franky walked slowly up the path toward her front door, then stopped half way, returning to the curb, where she sat staring at the Subaru Michael was in. She didn’t seem to be actually seeing it. She sat for several minutes, then reached into her briefcase, pulling out a pack of American Spirit Yellow cigarettes. Michael raised an eyebrow. She’d never seen Franky smoke. Franky pulled one from the box and tried to light it but her hands were shaking too badly and she chucked the box of cigarettes and the lighter into the street, putting both arms over her head and leaning over, her face between her knees.  
  
_Goddammit, Doyle!_ The Ice Queen started to melt. Michael reached for the door handle just as she saw the girl in the hoody sprinting up the path, humongous hunting knife in hand, heading straight for Franky.  
  
Michael was out of the car in microseconds, narrowly missing being mowed down by a car coming up the road.  
  
“Doyle!” She yelled, thanking god for her long legs. Franky looked up, startled. She was crying. “Move your arse!”  
  
Franky stood watching Michael barrel down on her, completely confused. “DeMedici?” She said, starting to move toward her.  
  
Michael blew past Franky, colliding with the girl with the knife just meters from where Franky had stopped to turn watching. Michael reached up expecting to catch the wrist holding the knife, but the girl was quick. She shifted direction when she realized the Amazon was heading for her and brought the knife down. It entered Michael’s rib cage neatly, to the hilt, as they both tumbled to the ground, Michael on top of the redhead, whose hood had come down in the melee.  
  
She didn’t even notice the knife in her gut. She put both hands around Stacey/Tracey’s neck and squeezed.  
  
“Fuck!” Franky was kneeling beside her. “Michael let her go!” Michael looked up at her, nothing but rage in her eyes. Franky could see the knife sticking out of her side, blood running from the wound. A lot of blood.  
  
Michael chuckled. “You’re gonna die,” she looked back down at the redhead writhing beneath her. “You psychotic bitch.”  
  
“Look at me! DeMedici!” Franky put her hands on Michael’s around the girl’s neck. “It will never leave you. Let her go.”  
  
Michael looked up at her as Franky tugged at her hands. The girl was moving less and less as she struggled to breathe.  
  
“Believe me. You don’t want to carry this for the rest of your life.”  
  
Michael’s grip loosened as she stared into Franky’s eyes, realizing that she was speaking from experience.  
  
“Please, Michael.”  
  
She let go and the girl breathed in harshly, coughing.  
  
“You’re bleeding, Michael. Let me look at that.” She pointed to the knife in Michael’s side.  
  
Michael looked down at the girl who was now sobbing. And punched her in the face. Twice. Hard. She was out cold.  
  
And suddenly Michael could feel the piercing pain in her gut. She rolled off Tracey/Stacey and laid in the grass on her back, looking up at the sky. Hours passed, it seemed to Michael, then Franky was in her field of vision, leaning over her.  Franky stripped off her blazer wrapping it gingerly around the wound, pressing down in an effort to staunch the bleeding. Michael cried out and closed her eyes.  
  
Franky fumbled for her mobile. “DeMedici. Open your eyes. Look at me.” She did. Franky dialed triple zero. “My friend has been attacked. Stabbed in the chest. There’s a lot of blood.” She gave the address and dropped the mobile on the grass next to Michael’s head, punching the speaker button. “Stay with me, Michael. Come on. Look at me.”  
  
Michael blinked slowly. Her side hurt like a motherfucker. She could barely breathe. And she was so fucking sleepy.  
  
“Night,” she said softly and coughed. Blood flecked her lips.  
  
“Nonononono. DeMedici. Look at me!” Franky was crying now. Amazingly she heard sirens. It seemed like barely a couple of minutes had passed. She heard the emergency operator talking but she couldn’t make out what she was saying. She placed one hand on Michael’s face. It was slick with her blood. “Come on, deMedici. You’re alright. Open your eyes.”  
  
“Don’t think so,” she said, rasping. Violet squinted into jade. “I…”  
  
“Shut up. Just keep your eyes open.”  
  
Michael reached one hand up and cupped Franky’s face, smearing it with blood as well. “I love you,” she said, finally.  
  
Franky grabbed the hand, kissing the palm. “I love you too. Now stop fucking talking!” She sobbed. “Ahhhhhh!”  
  
Erica was pacing in front of the door at their flat, wondering where Franky was. She’d called over 30 minutes ago to say she was on her way. She should have been in the house crying in her beer about Michael by now.  
  
She picked up the phone to call just as a wall of panic and fear hit her so hard she dropped the phone and went down on her knees. _Franky!_ She tried to pick up the phone but couldn’t stop her hands from shaking enough to even speed dial the number. The babies started squirming, seeming to dance with each other in her womb. She took several deep breaths and stood up, only to hear sirens. Getting closer. She snatched her handbag from the table by the door and ran to the lift.  
  
As she descended the sirens got louder. Erica focused on breathing, trying to calm the twins. Whatever was happening outside _please god not Franky_ the worst thing to do would be going into labor right now. As the lift opened, she could see out through the entryway, through the glass doors. Franky was kneeling on the lawn, sobbing, covered in blood.  
  
She felt a calm overtake her as she whispered to the babies, _everything is fine. It’s not her blood. See? She’s crying. She’s upright. Someone else is hurt. Everything is going to be fine. We are going to be fine._ She ran toward her spouse trying to make sense of the scene.  
  
Franky was kneeling next to Michael, who was unconscious. _Oh god._ And… Stacey Arrington? was passed out next to them, in blue jeans and a black hoody, her face smashed and bloody almost beyond recognition. It was the bright red hair that Erica recognized more quickly than the actual figure on the ground.  
  
Ambulances and police arrived a split second later, just as Erica was kneeling down next to Franky. She looked at Michael’s face. It was chalky. Blood was bubbling out of her mouth. She’s still breathing. Then she saw the knife hilt protruding from the bunched up cloth Franky was pressing against her side. _Oh, no. No._ She moved toward Michael’s head, stroking her brow and finally looked up at Franky.  
  
“Are you hurt?” She asked, quietly.  
  
Franky shook her head, continuing to sob, holding Michael’s wound. The medics surrounded them and Erica quickly moved out of their way, watching her partner struggle with them as they tried to take over Michael’s care.  
  
“She’s pregnant!” Erica yelled at the ambo staff. “Mind the baby! Franky,” she said firmly, pulling her from the midst of the chaos. “Let them do their work. She’s going to be fine.”  
  
Franky did a double take at Erica, then back at Michael. “She’s… How do you…” She didn’t know how to process that latest bit of information, and focused on what she could do. “I’m going with her. She shouldn’t be alone.” She continued to sob as she looked at Erica, finally taking in what this must have looked like for her partner. She pulled her in close, hugging her tightly. “I’m fine. She took that knife for me, Erica. She was coming for me and suddenly Michael was there. She saved my arse again.”  
  
Erica took deep breaths of Franky’s skin, her hair, willing herself to stay calm. The babies were still racing.  
  
Franky kissed her forehead and then knelt down, putting both hands on Erica’s belly. “What’s going on in there, guys?” She said, choking back her tears. “You need to chill. You’re driving Mama nuts.”  
  
And then she sang to them. As she sang, her voice became clearer. More steady. _“Moon River, wider than a mile / I’m crossing you in style some day / Dream maker, you heart breaker / Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way / Two drifters off to see the world / There’s such a lot of world to see / We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waitin’ round the bend / My huckleberry friend, Moon River, and me.”_  
  
In the midst of all the chaos, the babies calmed. Erica smiled, wondering at the miracle that was Franky Doyle. Her singing voice was melodious, beautiful, lilting. Erica briefly wondered if Franky was perfectly pitched.  
  
“Go,” Erica ran her fingers tenderly through Franky’s hair. They’re loading her up. I’ll meet you there.” _Everything is going to be fine._  
  
Franky stood, giving her a shaky smile and ran toward the ambulance.  
  
The police approached Erica, hammering her with questions. She was trying to explain that she hadn’t seen anything, had arrived only seconds before the police and ambulance, when Stella appeared. Josh and Shannon were close on her heels.  
  
“Senior Constable D’agostino,” she interrupted the barrage of questions flying at her sister-in-law. “Can you give us a minute?”  
  
Josh and Shannon led the police officers away, explaining TRT’s ongoing role in the stalking of Franky Doyle, and beginning to negotiate roles and responsibilities for the crime scene at hand, giving Stella and Erica some space.  
  
“Franky?” Stella asked, her eyes wide.  
  
“Michael deMedici. She took a knife to the ribs. There was a lot of blood.”  
  
“Stacey Arrington?”  
  
“Yes. It looked like her. I think. Her face was pretty smashed up. But same body type, same red hair.”  
  
Stella let out the breath she’d been holding. “Fuckall, Erica. How are you holding up?” She looked pointedly down at her swollen belly.  
  
“How do you think?” Erica raised an eyebrow, then her face crumpled as she wrapped her arms around Stella, willing herself not to cry. Stella held her. “How do we make this stop?” She was trembling, but the babies remained calm.  
  
Stella pulled her in more tightly. “Good question. Want a ride to the hospital?”  
  
“Yeah.”  



	14. You Keep Me Alive

Michael was happily swimming in the Mediterranean. The water was warm, salty. But she was too deep, she realized, as she kicked for the surface. She shouldn’t have dived down so far. Her lungs were getting tight. Uncomfortable. But she could see the surface, the light. She closed her eyes and used all her power to reach for it.  
  
And opened, gasping. She looked around. _Not in the ocean. Hospital. Shit._ And then she saw Franky, her forehead pressed against Michael’s thumb. Her hand was wrapped in both of Franky’s. She squeezed those hands holding hers.  
  
Franky’s head shot up. Her eyes were red and bleary. “DeMedici,” she said, smiling shakily.  
  
Michael cleared her throat. “Are you all right?”  
  
Franky chuckled. “Fine, you dumbass. But that’s down to you. Again.”  
  
Michael closed her eyes. “Did you call my father?”  
  
“Yeah,” Franky said. “He should be here in about six hours. How are you feeling?”  
  
“Pretty shitty. Is Erica here?”  
  
Franky’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. She went to the cafeteria to feed the aliens.”  
  
“Can I see her?”  
  
“Sure,” Franky said, a bit confused. “Don’t go anywhere,” she grinned, kissing Michael’s hand. And went to find her partner.  
  
Several minutes later, Franky returned with Erica in tow. She was eating an ice cream. When she saw Michael’s expression, she handed the cone to Franky and shoed her out.  
  
“Seriously?” Franky said, honestly confounded. “What is going on?”  
  
“Just give us a minute, Franky!” Erica hissed. _Don’t go all[Touch](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3177264/) on us, Michael. Please._  
  
“Fine!” She huffed, and left, chomping down on the cone.  
  
Michael patted the bed, inviting Erica to sit down close. She wanted this conversation to be very, very private.  
  
“I don’t remember much of what happened after I tackled Stacey. Do you know what happened?” She asked quietly, looking away from Erica, out the window.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Tell me, please.”  
  
“You should talk with the doctor…”  
  
“For fuckssake, Erica. Is the baby…” She stopped, unable to ask the question.  
  
“Fine, as far as I know. Significant puncture wound that managed to miss any major organs, except a small knick to your left lung. It partially collapsed.” Erica wearily wondered how many more times she would be in the hospital having this conversation with someone she cared about.  
  
Michael exhaled carefully, and looked at Erica, finally. “Did you tell Franky about… the baby?”  
  
“Not directly. But I did inform the medics as they put you in the ambulance, and she heard me. I’m sure she’s got lots of questions.”  
  
Michael sighed heavily. “I need you both to leave. I don’t want to see either of you in here again, do you understand?”  
  
“Michael… You’re father isn’t due for another six to eight hours. You really don’t expect her to leave you here alone…” Erica’s brow furrowed.  
  
“I expect you both do do as I ask. As soon as I’m able to travel, I’m going to Rome. For good.”  
  
“Michael…” _Shit. She’s going[Touch](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3177264/)_.  
  
“I already said my good-byes at the office,” she looked at Erica, beseechingly. The Ice Queen was nowhere to be found. “I can’t do it again, Erica. Please. I’m tired and in pain. And I have something else to think about besides Franky fucking Doyle now, right?”  
  
Erica put one hand against her mouth, the other on her swollen belly and looked away, willing herself not to cry. Her heart was breaking for Franky. And for Michael, who she had only once before seen look fragile and vulnerable. And that was the last time someone had almost killed Franky. When she had been kidnapped by a serial killer who turned out to be an associate of Michael's father. Michael felt responsible, even though it really wasn't her fault at all.

It tore at Erica, to be honest. She was really going to miss Michael. She had come to rely on the recalcitrant, brooding presence in their life. DeMedici's dry humor. Her dazzling smile, the few times it did appear. And especially her role as Franky’s protector. Erica’s protector, by proximity. Who was going to look after them now? And she had rather been looking forward to pregnant Michael. Mommy Michael. Their children playing together. They would only be a few months apart…  
  
“Ok.” She stood up reluctantly, resigned to Michael’s request. It was the least she could do after all Michael had done for them. Despite deMedici’s attempts to disrupt the Davidson-Doyle romance, Michael never had a chance, Erica realized in that moment. Not while she was being the partner to Franky that they both deserved. She thanked whatever gods were listening that she got a second one. But Michael was a dear, beloved — if completely maddening — companion to them both.  “You’re the best mate she’s ever had. We’ve ever had. I hope you find your way back to us. Soon.” She kissed Michael’s forehead, squeezed her hand, and left.  
  
Michael listened for the scuffle outside as Erica informed Franky of her wishes. _Three. Two. One…_  
  
“No! No! What the fuck, deMedici!”  
  
The door rattled.  
  
Erica spoke again.  
  
“Yeah, well fuck that. I’m not leaving. What kind of bullshit is that?”  
  
Michael could hear Erica’s quiet, soothing voice, but couldn’t make out the words. Then silence. Then a sudden raucous _smack_ against the door, hard and loud enough that she flinched. She smiled bitterly. _I hope you broke your fucking hand, Franky._  
  
And then nothing.  
  
She called for the doctor, and calmly talked through her injuries, her prognosis, and when she could likely leave the hospital. She called her father. Then she was alone. Finally. And she wept.  
  
*************************************  
  
It was 3am, and Franky and Erica were finally getting into bed after a crazy, exhausting, brutal day, where once again, someone had tried to kill Franky and Michael deMedici had saved her. Except this time, Michael was nearly killed as well. And now she was leaving them all, running away to her family’s home in Rome. Indefinitely.  
  
Franky pushed all of these things from her mind. She was exhausted, but she was safe. Michael had banished her from her life. But Erica was safe, healthy, happy, barely a month from a full term delivery of their babies. Franky had plenty to do without pining for Michael deMedici, who, she suspected, would be just fine. At this point, she was exhausted, cried out about Michael. It was time to let go. Eventually she would be fine. They all would.  
  
Erica lay on her side, which was about the only comfortable position she could manage laying down. Franky curled herself around her partner. They were quiet long enough that Franky thought Erica had fallen asleep.  
  
“It’s okay to be angry. And sad, Franky.”  
  
“I know. But you were right. I need to let her go. She’ll find her way back to us if it’s right for her.”  
  
Franky put her hand on Erica’s belly. _Tap_.  
  
Erica smiled. Franky kissed her neck. “Besides. I have plenty to do, to think about here. And honestly, I don’t mind focusing on just you and the babies for awhile.”  
  
Erica didn't mind either.  
  
Franky moved her hand. The _tap_ followed it.  
  
“Okay, knock it off,” Erica chuckled.  
  
Franky leaned up on one elbow and found Erica’s lips in the dark. She took her time kissing her deeply, thoroughly, until Erica was breathing rapidly. “We haven’t had sex in more than a week.”  
  
“Mmmmm. I feel like a beached whale, love. Not so sexy.”  
  
Franky kissed her again. “I bet you didn’t know I secretly have a thing for beached whales. In bondage wear.”  
  
Erica laughed sleepily. “I did not know. You are a naughty girl, Franky Doyle.”  
  
“Yes. Let me remind you how naughty I can be, Miss Davidson.”  
  
And they both, promptly, feel into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
*************************************  
  
They were still asleep the next day at noon, Franky waking first to the chime of her mobile. “Yeah,” she said, groggily.  
  
“Franks. Sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice.”  
  
Franky disentangled herself from Erica, who continued sleeping soundly. She sat up on the side of the bed. “Stel. Are you working? Can you come over for breakfast?” Franky was anxious to know what had happened. What was the story with Stacy Arrington?  
  
“How about lunch? It’s after noon, Franks.”  
  
“Shit. Give us an hour to get up and get the food on.”  
  
An hour and a half later they were all sitting at the dining room table eating carne asada and pollo tacos with a light, mayo-free cabbage slaw dressing. Franky despised mayonnaise.  
  
“God, I love these tacos,” Erica said with her mouth full.  
  
“You’re loving all food these days, babe,” Franky grinned. Stella chuckled. Erica blushed, but continued to eat.  
  
“So what’s going on, Stel?”  
  
“Proper shit show, Franks. The Arringtons…”  
  
“Wait, there’s more than one?” Erica said through a mouth full.  
  
“…are some twisted shit. We don’t know the full story, but from near as we can tell so far…”  
  
Tracey Arrington was in hospital, having sustained a broke nose, fractured orbital socket and cheekbone from Michael’s punches. Stacey had been picked up and immediately began confessing. The story was a bit confusing. Allegedly, it was actually Stacey who had started the fire that killed their parents. There was some sort of scuffle between the sisters as the house burned with their parents in it, which is how Tracey lost teeth. Tracey somehow survived on the street while Stacey was institutionalized. When she got out, they had managed to share the same life, both appearing out in the world as Stacey — one at a time — and no one every being the wiser. Except that that Stacey was a psychotic narcissist and Tracey tried to take care of her and keep her in check. So while they both assumed Stacey’s identity, one sister locked the other sister in their apartment and they maintained a very sybaritic… twisted… codependent… incestuous… relationship with each other. A relationship which was threatened by non-psychotic Stacey’s crush. It made psychotic Stacey, well, rabidly mad. Hence the stalking and attempted murder of Franky Doyle.  
  
The bomb-making, stalking and PIT-maneuvering skill by mad Stacey still needed to be investigated thoroughly. How someone so ostensibly isolated could function so effectively outside of her in-home locked-up environment was a mystery to everyone at this point.  
  
And that was the short version. They’d need to wait a bit for more detail. It was, as Stella said, a proper shit show.  
  
Fucking insane.  
  
“Oh god,” Erica said. “I think I’m gong to be sick.” She left the table.  
  
“Police obviously want at you, Franky.”  
  
“How long do I have? I need a fucking break, Stel.”  
  
“I know. But if you can go down today and give a statement, I’ll try to keep them out of your hair after that. You don’t really know anything, aside from she was weird, but seemed harmless, at work, aye?”  
  
“Aye. Will you take me down? I want Erica there as my attorney.”  
  
“Yeah, Franks. Of course I’ll take you.”  
  
Erica returned. “Apparently the twins are not giving up lunch.” She sat back down and continued eating. “How many charges are they looking at? There’s got to be dozens in there.”  
  
“They aren't likely to see the light of day in the next decade, at least,” said Franky.  
  
“At least,” echoed Stella.  
  
“We need to go down to give a statement today, honey,” Franky said to Erica apologetically.  
  
“I figured,” she said, diving into the chips and salsa Franky had put on the table. “I love chips and salsa.”  
  
Stella’s eyebrow went up and she stole the basket of chips from her sister-in-law. Erica blushed again. “I know. I have to stop saying that. But everything tastes incredibly good these days. You ever think about having kids, Stel?”  
  
Stella looked taken aback. “Ah, not really. I’m a cop. Being a mum doesn’t really fit into the picture for me.”  
  
“Ever?”  
  
“Nah. Maybe if I meet Mr. Right. And he wants to be a stay at home mum.”  
  
“Mr.?” Franky queried, one eyebrow up.  
  
“Women are pain in the ass. Present company excepted, Erica. Dudes are much easier. Straightforward.”  
  
There was a heavy silence in the room. No one wanted to bring up deMedici. Stella had explained to Franky weeks ago that when she’d ended up with Rose Byrne at the club, it was after she’d seen Michael hooking up with some guy. And it hurt. And she was done with it all. They’d never even had sex anyway. Michael deMedici was just unreachable, from Stella’s perspective. She was glad she never got in too deep. Although she would miss her bike buddy. _Maybe she’ll come back,_ Franky had said. _Yeah. Maybe._  
  
“Any thoughts about FemLaw yet, Franky? You were supposed to start parental leave this week. But with both you and Michael and Stacey out… What’s going to happen?” Erica asked.  
  
“I’ll call the board chair later, or tomorrow. They can’t expect I’ll be in today, by any stretch of the imagination,” Franky answered.  
  
“You could run that place, babe,” Erica added. “Your leadership would be really important to the staff right now, and the clients, I’m betting. Especially once the news starts to get out about their former boss.”  
  
Franky sighed. “Michael would be perfect to run that place,” she answered, stoically, breaking their unspoken taboo. “Her personality and profile would instantly deflect energy from the shit show that will be Stacey/Tracey Arrington. Plus she’s qualified. And she’d love it, bossing people around. Maybe they can convince her to come back.” She stood up and started to clear the table, stopping to kiss her partner. “The only thing I’m focusing on for the next couple of months is you and our mini-me’s. That’s all.”  
  
*************************************  
  
Exactly two weeks later, Erica was squeezing Franky’s hand so hard she swore she could hear bones cracking.  
  
“Fuck, Erica!”  
  
“FUCK YOU, FRANKY DOYLE!” Erica yelled, then screeched in pain. “DON’T YOU EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN. UNDERSTAND? WE NEVER, EVER, FUCK AGAIN!”  
  
The attending nurse tried to cover up a chuckle. The doctor looked up from between Erica’s legs. “You’re doing fantastic, Erica. Breathe, and then one more push and we’ll get the first one. Come on.”  
  
Erica did some breathing, squeezing Franky’s hand again, hard. Franky’s mouth fell open and she shook her head with the excruciating pain of it, as she tried to understand, how, in Erica’s mind, their having sex had anything at all to do with making babies and her current state of agony.  
  
“She’s crowning, Franky. Do you want to see?” the doctor queried.  
  
“Ahhhh. No. Thanks.” Child birth creeped Franky out. Besides, she was trying to extract her hand from Erica to massage some sensation back into it.  
  
“AAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” Erica.  
  
“Well done! Well done! You have a baby girl!”  
  
“Oh god! Go get her, Franky!”  
  
“You have to let go of my hand, babe.” Erica finally let go. Franky shook the numb extremity, coaxing the blood flow back into it and followed the nurse to the cleaning area. She watched the little squirmy pink thing waving it’s limbs around. Then she was swaddled up and thrust into Franky’s arms.  
  
Franky was, unexpectedly, instantly mesmerized by the little face below hers. The perfect little nose. All those thick eyelashes. Perfect lips. And then she opened her eyes and Franky fell into them. Completely. Glassy, bleary, bluish grey pupils peered up at her. And then she heard another unearthly howl.  
  
“AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”  
  
Franky spun around just in time to see the second baby coming out. She closed her eyes, feeling a little woozy and trying not to pass out. She tried not to think about Erica’s junk maybe not going back to the tight little den of pleasure it used to be. Instead, she moved around to Erica’s head, kissed her, and put Thing Number One into her arms.  
  
Erica immediately started crying. “Oh god. She’s beautiful. Franky. Isn’t she beautiful?”  
  
Franky grinned. “Looks just like her mama.” She kissed Erica on the forehead.  
  
“Another girl!” the doctor announced. “Congratulations, Davidson-Doyle family! You have two, healthy, bouncing baby girls.”  
  
“Names, babe?!”  
  
“Tell them, Franky. And go get our other girl.”  
  
Franky went to where the second baby — Thing Number Two — was being swaddled. She arrived just in time to see ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes, and the same round head full of dark brown hair. Like her sister. “This one is Michaela Seymour Davidson-Doyle. That one,” she pointed to the infant in Erica’s arms, “is Giuliana Seymour Davidson-Doyle.”  
  
The nurse passed Michaela to Franky. “Hey, Mike,” Franky said softly. Michaela opened her eyes, just like her sister, staring at Franky. And yawned. Franky’s heart stopped briefly, and she felt herself tearing up. It was unbearably cute. _What in the world? How is this making me cry?_  
  
“Franky,” Erica said. “Come here, will you?”  
  
She’d heard that the body forgets childbirth almost instantly. She didn’t believe it until that moment. The absolute joy in Erica’s eyes was unmistakeable. Franky would have still been cursing up a blue streak if something had come out of her like that. She gained a whole new respect for the female body, for mothers, and an even deeper, more profound love for Erica.  
  
Franky made her way slowly across the room to Erica and placed Michaela in her arms. She kissed her three girls on the head, then kissed Erica on the lips. “I didn’t know I could love you more,” she whispered, letting the tears come. Erica smiled up at her blissfully.  
  
“No tearing down here,” the doctor announced, “which is unusual for a natural twin birth. Congratulations. Obviously you’ll want bed rest for at least 24-48 hours. But as soon as you feel like getting up, you should. You’re in great physical shape and should recover quickly. Just don’t overdo it.” The doctor snapped off her gloves handing them to the nurse, then approached Franky and Erica, observing the happy, healthy family. Impulsively she put an arm around Franky’s shoulder, squeezing briefly. “Congratulations,” she said again, softly. Then left the room.  
  
“Nice,” said Franky. She looked at Erica. “No tearing, babe.” _No fucking tearing. That’s… just… wrong. Who wants to know about tearing?_  
  
Erica was staring at the girls. First one, then the other. Then back again. “I think they’re identical, honey.”  
  
“I don’t care if they’re Siamese. They’re ours.” Franky scooted gingerly into the bed next to Erica, staring at the babies too. Cradling all her girls in her arms. They were incredibly beautiful. Giuliana smacked her lips and Franky thought her heart would break. It was absolutely the cutest thing she had ever seen. It was like having three Erica’s instead of one. And she’d never seen three more beautiful things in her entire life.  
  
Erica yawned.  
  
“Oh fuck!” Franky exclaimed, jumping up from the bed. You probably want a rest or something.” She gently took Giuliana from Erica’s arms. “Hey Jules,” she cooed. Giuliana blinked at her, then yawned. Then closed her eyes. “We might have to tag them, though…”  
  
“No, Franky. I’m not tired. Just a few more minutes,” Erica said, staring at Michaela, grinning like an idiot. She blinked a couple of times, but then her eyes stayed closed. She was out. Franky handed Giuliana off to the nurse and carefully extracted Michaela, who she continued to hold. She was fast asleep. Franky settled herself in a chair next to Erica and the nurse handed her Giuliana too, so she had both babies.  
  
She suddenly knew for the first time in her life, without question, why she was alive on this planet.  
  
And she had a full three minutes to contemplate it before the rest of the Davidson clan — Mom, Dad, Vince, Veronica, the three other brothers, their wives, some of the cousins, and Stella D’agostino crowded into the room.


	15. The Pleasure is Mine

It was three months later. Franky had taken four months of unpaid parental leave from FemLaw to stay home with Erica and the twins.  
  
And they were having a blast.  
  
“How can a baby girl solely on breast milk possibly shit this much, Erica? Huh? Explain this to me!” Franky mock-complained as she changed nappies. “And what’s in that stuff, anyway? I’m not sure they should ever go to solid food. We’re going to have to fumigate as it is.”  
  
The twins personalities were already emerging. Giuliana was fairly laid back, easy, slept when you wanted her to, didn’t fuss too much. Michaela was a menace — first to wake up, last to go to sleep. And hands everywhere all the time. Especially in the diaper when Franky was changing her. It was a constant battle to not end up with baby shit smeared across her shirt or on the baby’s foot smeared across her shirt; or on the the little crumb snatcher’s hands smeared across the little crumb snatcher’s face.  
  
But they were undoubtedly the cutest babies on the planet. Ever. Full heads of dark brown, unruly hair. Blue eyes like their mommy. Thick, dark eyelashes. The most pinchable cheeks and pouty lips. They looked a bit like Erica — but olive-skinned like Franky.  
  
“Gah, Mike!” Poopy hands in face. Again. Giuliana was lying on the floor next to the changing table, cooing blissfully, clean and powdered, legs kicking rhythmically. She was fascinated with the movement of her limbs and trying to catch her feet, not quite understanding  that she was in control of it all. Franky pulled another baby wipe — the third for this session with Michaela, scrubbed the face and captured the hands to clean them as well. Franky wondered if there were baby-sized handcuffs.  
  
Erica came in the room and choked back a laugh. “How is that you haven’t figured this out yet?” She handed Michaela a brightly colored toy and she was instantly distracted from the diaper and her poo.  
  
“I was thinking about cuffing her. She is your daughter, isn’t she?”  
  
“Yes. And she might like it. You should give her another 25 or so more years before you talk to her about though.” Erica elbowed Franky out of the way, deftly avoiding the baby mess on her t-shirt. “Get cleaned up. You’re as bad as the girls.” Erica quickly cleaned Michaela, powdered her bum, diapered her in a fresh Huggie, then dressed her in a clean onesie.  
  
“Who’s my bad girl,” Erica teased Michaela, kissing her neck. Michaela smiled.  “Yes you are my bad baby. Why do you torment Mama so?” She kissed her again, earning another smile and an “oooooo.” “Keep it up, baby girl. She deserves it!” They sat on the floor next to Giuliana talking about proper nappy changing etiquette until Franky returned, clean and fresh, and scooped up Jules.  
  
They went into the lounge, intending to put them both on the play mat on the floor. They were solidly three months old and doing all sorts of tricks — turning themselves over, pushing head and chest up from the floor, grabbing things — but Franky was obsessed with making them laugh. She sat Giuliana on her lap and started making faces at her. The girl didn’t even crack a smile. She did grab Franky’s hands tightly, attempting to pull herself into a standing position on Franky’s lap, but her coordination wasn’t quite there yet. Franky dipped her back so the baby’s head touched Franky’s knees, then pulled her up again by the two fingers Giuliana had her hands wrapped tightly around. Up. Down. Up. Down.  
  
Franky still could not get enough of these kids. Her daughters. They were infinitely fascinating, and changing so fast! Every day she discovered something new about them. Today it was that Michaela was ticklish on the soles of her feet. She wasn’t up to laughing yet, but definitely very sensitive there where Giuliana was not.  
  
She was still wrapping her head around all of this. She was a mum. She was responsible for two baby girls. And a spouse. They had done all the paperwork to make sure Franky was a legal guardian and they were solidly adopted under Australian law. But it was still completely surreal to Franky Doyle, who less than ten years ago, had been at Wentworth looking at another three years inside. She didn’t even know Erica then. She checked herself for the usual impending sense of doom, the nagging feeling that something terrible was going to happen to make everything go pear-shaped.  
  
It just wasn’t there.  
  
Which reminded her.  
  
“Babe.”  
  
“Yes, love.”  
  
“We’re having a third anniversary this year.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“We were married three years ago October. We haven’t even had an anniversary party, dinner, anything. How is that?”  
  
Erica’s eyes widened as she reviewed the timeline aloud. “Well, let’s see. You came to dinner in November three years ago,” she paused there briefly, replaying that event quickly in her mind. The absolute joy and abject fear that engulfed her when she saw Franky in her parent’s garden. Then their passionate, hungry, desperate snog session in her da’s home office while her entire family — including her now ex-husband — was in the lounge watching footie. She shook herself from the reverie. “That was when you and Nic graduated. Then we had a lot of kinky sex….”  
  
Franky leered at her as they went down memory lane together. “Ahhh, babe. I haven’t looked in the treasure drawer in months.” She frowned. “We need to change that. Having these two shouldn’t mean we don’t get our own play time. Does it? I mean, we just need to figure out the timing, right? Create some space?” Franky looked genuinely concerned. It hadn’t occurred to her that children would mean absolutely no time for sex. Otherwise, how do you get more than one kid? Someone was making it work.  
  
Erica smiled at her. She actually had visited their treasure drawer, wistfully, several times over the past few months. And taken the post-child bearing girly bits on a test drive in the shower a few days earlier. Everything seemed to be in working order. She was definitely ready to get back into some kind of groove. But instead of teasing Franky with this information, she continued with the timeline. “The next June you were taken hostage. In September you were kidnapped. Then we got married. In October.”  
  
“I guess our honeymoon could count as a celebration.” Franky leered again and Erica blew a kiss at her while patting Michaela’s belly. She grabbed at Erica's hair, trying to stuff it into her mouth.  
  
“We had a pretty quiet year when you started at FemLaw,” _and another amazing uninterrupted several months of unbelievable sex_ , Erica mused. “But then Ferguson offed herself and Stella came into our lives in September. Then I started at Hunter. It was a full spring. I’m not sure how we blew through our first anniversary, though.”  
  
Franky nodded her head while watching Giuliana go back and forth against her thighs. The baby suddenly let go one hand, spinning off balance, her tiny legs kicking up as Franky caught her and supported her to sit upright. Giuliana stuffed her now free fist in her mouth.  
  
“Then I got pregnant in May. The car wreck was in August and our building was bombed, so we went to the penthouse.” Erica was quiet for a moment. “I did think about our second anniversary then, honestly. But I couldn’t imagine how we could make it work in that fortress. I was very pregnant, very cranky, and your mate wasn’t making it any easier.”  
  
“Hmmmm. I underestimated what she would do, love. I mean the extent of it. I’m sorry. And I totally blew through that one too. There was a lot going on.”  
  
“No apology necessary, baby. I knew what I was in for. And if the tables had been turned, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same things to get your attention.” Erica kissed a tiny foot. Michaela smiled, then kicked her in the face. “But let’s make sure we mark it this year. It’s only June. We’ve got a full four months to plan. Maybe we can get away for a few days. The girls will be nearly eight months. They can stay with Mum, Da and Nic. Or one of my brothers. Jase’s kids are old enough to actually be helpful with two babies.”  
  
“Yeah, but Mike is crazy about Nic and your Mum. She’ll behave with them.”  
  
“She’ll be spoiled to death, you mean.” Erica kissed the little girl’s hand. Then her foot again. Michaela stopped chewing on Erica's hair and stared at her mum, who kept kissing the sole of her foot. Finally she smiled again, trying to pull her foot away. Then she started to squirm.  
  
They seemed to be identical, even though Franky knew that this was statistically nearly impossible. Fraternal twins ran in Erica’s family, and given the fertility drugs she had been on, it was much more likely that two eggs had been successfully fertilized rather than one attacked by two sperm and split. Vincent and Nic looked identical at birth. It wasn’t until they hit puberty that they started to look quite different — and not just because of the plumbing. Different hair color — Vince was dark blond, sandy, while Nic was nearly white-haired. Vince was tall and stick thin; Nic, curvy and several centimeters shy of Vince’s height.  
  
Franky examined Giuliana closely, then glanced over at Michaela. Jules was slightly chubbier. Franky figured it was because Mike was meaner, ate less, fussed more. She definitely had to be first on the tit or screaming ensued. In the big picture, it didn’t matter much. It was only seconds before they were both nursing happily, unless Erica was alone. If that was the case, Michaela was first. But at this point it was difficult to always tell them apart when rushed. It helped that they had decided not to dress them identically, ever. When they got old enough to make the choice, they could do that. But until then, Thing One and Thing Two wore different outfits at all times. Franky wasn’t having the cutesy, “look at us we’re twins” thing going on. Just… no.  
  
But they were rarely rushed. The Davidson-Doyle clan had an ongoing stream of extended family in and out of their flat, offering unending support, babysitting, nappy changing, and general playing to the point that the girls were pretty fearless and content around Erica's entire family. Michaela, in particular, had just about everyone — especially Stella — wrapped around her tiny pinky finger. She seemed to have a lower lip quiver that she pulled especially for Stella, when Giuliana was getting too much attention. And Stella fell for it every time.  
  
Franky was completely unclear how that teeny baby manipulated everyone so cleverly at three months. She was a little menace — relatively speaking (what could a three month old really do?) — at home when there wasn’t any company. But she turned into a master charmer when others were around, cooing and being completely adorably smiley and sweet. Franky was going to have to watch her carefully. Jules seemed completely guileless, totally straightforward, you knew exactly when she was happy and when she was not. And she was much more the former than the latter. Mike was a piece of work.  
  
But now, Erica was lying on the play mat with Michaela, bouncing a fluffy bear off her belly while she tried to grab it. And Franky was focused on Giuliana.  
  
Franky lifted the baby girl up over her head and kissed her belly. Giuliana drooled on her nose. She brought her back down to her lap and the baby tried to straight-leg, but wasn’t quite coordinated enough. Franky kissed her neck sloppily. “Come on Jules! Give us a little something.” Giuliana watched her stoically. Franky stuck her tongue out. Giuliana reached for it and actually managed to grab it. Franky laughed, opening her mouth. Giuliana thrust her little fist inside and Franky captured it up to the wrist, fake chewing it, making sounds as if it was the best treat in the world.  
  
Giuliana smiled widely with her mouth open, drool-sloppy pink gums on display, finding Franky’s behavior quite entertaining. Then she chuckled.  
  
“Hah!” Franky said, somewhat muffled as the baby’s hand was still in her mouth. “Ecca! Biboo hear at?”  
  
Erica sat up, excitedly. “Oh my god! What did you do?”  
  
Franky repeated her earlier action and Giuliana chuckled again. It was low and melodious, as if she’d been doing it for years. As if she and Franky had a secret ongoing joke.  
  
Michaela’s head snapped to the direction of Franky and her sister, eyes wide. Erica burst into hysterics. Babies laughing was the most addictive, joyful sound in the world. And contagious as hell.  
  
Erica picked Michaela up and sat on the lounge next to Franky, who repeated her new trick with the same effect.  
  
“Aaaaayyyy!” Michaela exclaimed, reaching out for Franky’s face. Erica put her next to her sister on Franky’s lap, as she provoked another chuckle from Giuliana. “Good on ya, Jules!” Franky cracked up.  
  
Michaela, not getting what was so funny, began to cry.  
  
Erica, still laughing, scooped up Giuliana kissing her loudly on the neck several times. “You better make this right, love,” she said over her shoulder to Franky. Giuliana was just as content going down to the mat with Erica as giggling with Franky. Erica rained kisses all over Giuliana’s face and hands, and she cooed agreeably, smiling, even squealing a little and laughing again when Erica kissed her hand sloppily.  
  
Franky stood up with Michaela, turning her upside down. “You little killjoy,” she said playfully, turning her back upright, then upside down again. When she brought her upright for a second time, the baby had stopped crying just as quickly as she’d started, and was smiling, completely distracted and entertained by the gymnastics. Franky turned her upside down a third time and she squealed. Another time and Michaela emitted a deep belly laugh. Franky collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles, pushing Michaela over next to her sister as she looked at her mama with a shocked expression. Then turned to see what her sister was doing with their mommy, since Mama seemed to have stopped being fun.  
  
Erica left the babies to entertain each other and sat astride Franky’s hips, pulling her guffawing partner up to a sitting position. She chuckled against Franky’s neck, holding her close, feeling the laughter vibrating against her chest. She kissed her ear and held her tightly, marveling at how very, very much smitten she still was with her partner. At what an amazing parent she was turning out to be. At how she still sent Erica’s pulse racing with a touch. Everything still felt so new, and also like they had been together for decades. Franky had finally laughed herself out and wrapped her arms around her spouse as they both watched the babies playing together.  
  
Impulsively, Erica put one hand on either side of Franky’s face and pressed their foreheads together. “I am so completely in love with you,” she said, and kissed her. With intent.  
  
Franky immediately forgot everything else and focused on Erica’s mouth, lips, tongue against hers. Erica’s kisses always had that effect on her; and they hadn’t had any play time in months. No sex at all, since the babies were born. Just no opportunity, between feeding, bathing, clothing, laundry, outings, playing, more feeding. Feeding both of the babies and Erica took up a lot of time. Erica was still their only food source so Franky made sure she had three solid, home cooked freshly prepared meals a day as well as multiple healthy snacks. The kids were voracious nursers, feeding every three to four hours. Thank god they slept a solid five to six hours at night. But that meant that the night time feeding pretty much zapped the remainder of Erica’s energy for the day.  
  
But the way Erica was kissing her now was giving Franky all sorts of other ideas. It wasn’t as if Franky didn’t want to have sex — far from it. Erica’s body had snapped back into peak shape in a matter of weeks, what with breastfeeding two kids. They also took turns going out for a run almost every day. And Erica managed to squeeze in some yoga several times a week.  
  
Not that it even mattered. Erica was sexy to Franky, big as a house or not. But Erica’s was even hotter now, lithe, svelte. And the tits! Franky was just hesitant to push for sex, given what Erica’s body had been through delivering their precious cargo. It felt selfish. She had been waiting for Erica’s cue.  
  
Now Erica was in her lap, kissing her like that. Franky really, really wanted to fuck. And Erica was a bit squirmy — or was that a slow grind? _Oh sweet baby Jesus!_ She rolled them over so that she was on top, nestling herself between Erica’s shapely legs as she kissed her back, deeply, then began working her way down her partner’s neck.  
  
“Are you starting something we aren’t going to be able to finish?” She asked against Erica’s skin. Nibbling here and there.  
  
Erica looked over at the twins who seemed fully content with one another and their toys at the moment. She felt her body arching into Franky’s touch, surprised at how quickly the lust returned. “Franky,” she panted, as she reached into Franky’s hair, holding her head firmly. “We’ll scar them for life.”  
  
“If we’re quiet, they won’t know. What will they know?” Franky continued down to Erica’s collarbone and began unbuttoning her blouse. She was so happy about the nursing bra, which unhooked in the front; and had convenient flaps across each breast that came away with velcro, without even releasing the bra at all. She tugged at the front hook, pleased at how deftly she still managed to open Erica's bra.  
  
“No!” Erica whispered sharply. “Don’t confuse the issue. Those are for food.” she said, pushing Franky’s mouth away from her chest and trying to rehook her bra. Not wanting to follow that train of thought.  
  
“I’m not confused,” Franky answered, but helped with refastening, genuinely disappointed. Erica’s tits were amazingly, wonderfully bigger and Franky had been jonesing to get her hands on them. But she respected the boundary and continued to kiss down the firm belly until she reached the waistband of Erica’s stretchy pants. “How’s everything going down here?” she queried, exposing a hip and kissing the bare skin there.  
  
“Unnnhh, god, Franky,” she whispered. “I don’t think we should do this here. Now.” But she sooooo wanted to. It had been too long by far.  
  
“Yes, we should, even though you said we won’t ever fuck again.” She smiled wickedly and slid Erica’s pants and knickers down a little further, exposing the beginnings of the blond tuft of hair covering the treasure below. Erica lifted her hips to allow Franky to pull her clothing down further.  
  
“I didn’t say that. When did I say that?" Erica smiled, remembering exactly the moment in the delivery room when she wanted so badly to blame someone for the excruciating pain. And Franky being a handy target. She scratched the back of Franky’s head, gently urging her to continue her exploration.  
  
And the phone rang.  
  
The twins startled and stared at them. Erica jumped up swiftly readjusting her clothing. Franky rolled onto her back and growled in frustration as Erica’s tantalizing body moved away from her to answer the phone. The twins went back to chewing their toys.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
Franky pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. Then sat up and crawled toward the twins. She mussed their hair. They ignored her.  
  
“Nic! Yes! Come up!”  
  
Franky rolled her eyes, frustrated beyond belief. How in the world could Erica think this was a good time for company?  
  
Half an hour later, Franky understood very clearly, and was ever so grateful to the quick thinking and ingenuity of her partner. She and Erica were bundling their baby girls into their snow suits — it was dead of winter after all — packing the diaper bag, and hustling Nic down to their new Volvo with the baby car seats.  
  
“You’re a gem, Nic! We’ll run errands and meet you at Mum’s with your car for dinner at six. Call my mobile if they start to get fussy before five then and we’ll come right away. They aren’t on solid food yet.”  
  
“Awesome!” Nic replied, firing up the car. “I can’t believe you’re letting us have them for the whole afternoon! Don’t forget to call and warn Mum and Da, Erica.” Nic had strict instructions not to even look at her mobile, let alone call or answer it while driving the babies. It was hidden deep in her pocketbook. Then she pulled out of the car park with Giuliana and Michaela safely buckled into the back seat.  
  
Erica and Franky were quiet as they entered the lift, holding hands. When they got back into their flat and closed the door, they attacked one another, tearing at each other’s clothing.  
  
“We don’t actually have to run any errands, do we?” Franky panted against Erica’s lips.  
  
“No,” Erica answered as she stepped out of her pants at the same time she was fumbling with the buttons on Franky’s jeans. “Take these off!” She commanded.  
  
Franky easily lifted her up and Erica obligingly wrapped her legs around Franky’s waist. _Has she actually gone down in weight?_ _Maybe bench pressing and curling the babies daily has butched me up_. Franky lost that train of thought as her partner bit her ear and reached around to unhook her bra. Franky quickly walked them into the bedroom and lay Erica down on the bed, after whipping the bedclothes out of the way. Erica squealed and Franky let up briefly as a tiny shoe emerged from under Erica’s bum. Franky chucked it across the room, quickly checked the bed for other baby accessories, then got down to business.  
  
At least she tried to, but couldn’t get past the kissing. Why had they not been kissing like this, even if they weren’t having sex? Kissing Erica was incredible. She could stay here, just kissing. Until Erica arched underneath her, trying to pull off her knickers, but she was stymied by Franky’s thigh.  
  
“Franky…” she sighed. “Please…”  
  
Franky was too impatient to spend the time pulling Erica’s knickers completely off and simply slid her hand down the front, into the warm, sweet, welcome wetness she had anticipated. She moaned at the feel of it after so long.  
  
“Are you sure this is okay?” She didn’t know why she was asking. Erica was already rubbing herself against Franky’s fingers wantonly. She slid two fingers in easily, a third on the next stroke.  
  
“Oh god,” Erica moaned, recalling her self-exploration the previous morning in the shower. “I missed thi… ummmmmm,” she dissolved into speaking in tongues as Franky added a fourth finger.  
  
Franky was frustrated with the lack of leverage caused by the restraining knickers, and decided she needed to get rid of them. Not wanting to break the rhythm, she jerked at them roughly with her other hand and the delicate French lace came away in pieces. _The sexy panties? Was she planning for this?_  
  
“Fuckfuckfuck!” Erica exhaled loudly, quickly riding to the brink with the pain of the torn fabric and the pleasure of it as well. “Oh god!” She was meeting Franky’s frenzied rhythm with wild thrusts of her hips.  
  
Franky felt Erica nearing climax, but she wasn’t ready for this to be over so soon. Even though she knew her partner was capable of multiple orgasms, she made a dom decision to slow the pace, stretch things out a bit.  
  
She latched onto Erica’s neck with her lips, hard, marking her slowly but definitively as she reduced the pace with her hand.  
  
Erica whimpered. “God, Franky! Don’t stop.”  
  
“Not stopping. Just slowing down. Trust me, ok?”  
  
Erica moaned in assent as she tried to relax into the new rhythm her partner was setting. She wound both her hands in Franky’s hair, pulling her towards her lips again, kissing her hungrily. This slow fuck was maddening, and she slid one hand down around Franky’s wrist, encouraging her to speed up again.  
  
Franky pulled out of the kiss abruptly, stilling her hand. “Do I need to tie you up, Miss Davidson?”  
  
Erica bit back a smile, keeping her lower lip trapped between her teeth and let go Franky’s wrist. She knew they didn’t actually have time to pull out any of the toys. It was already half past three and they would need to get cleaned up. _Possibly more sex in the shower?_ Erica practically cried with the relief when the hand returned to it’s previous task, fucking her slowly, but deeply. She put both hands over her head, reaching for the headboard as Franky continued to fuck her and mark her flesh with her lips and teeth, down her neck, her chest, her ribs, circling her breasts but not touching her swollen, tender, baby-abused nipples.  
  
She found herself wanting that pressure, Franky’s lips, teeth, there, even though she’d been very clear earlier that it would be too confusing. But the slow grind was lighting up every nerve in her body, every inch of her skin. She wanted Franky everywhere. She looked down at her lover, who was hovering over a nipple, begging permission to touch there, kiss there. Erica released the headboard with one hand and guided Franky’s mouth where she wanted it most, and gasped at the lightening bolts of pleasure that radiated from the contact.  
  
Franky moaned and increased the tempo with her hand as she savored the sensation of the swollen, heated flesh in her mouth. She switched to the other nipple, trying to be gentle. God she had missed this. She sped up again with her hand, increasing the pressure as well. Erica was now chanting her name every third thrust. Franky was so grateful for their connection, the way Erica’s body responded to her touch, she could have cried for the depth of emotion it inspired in her; but focused on making her partner scream instead. She moved in for the finish, fucking Erica hard, fast. Her hands reached up for the headboard again, then for Franky, as she arched up into an orgasm so hard her entire body shook and she howled through it.  
  
Erica was sure she was imploding. Or was her head coming off? Maybe both. The pleasure Franky was giving her was indescribable. Her mouth, her hands, the skin on skin contact, the painful bruises down her neck and across her front. And then… the brightest, whitest light she had ever seen exploded behind her eyes followed by a pure, sweet euphoria.  
  
When she could feel her body again, she was cradled in Franky’s arms, that talented hand trapped inside, between Erica’s clamped and shaking thighs. Franky was pressing soft kisses to her neck and ear. She placed her hands alongside Franky’s face, lifting her so she could see her eyes. “Now I can see,” she husked, smiling, referencing Franky’s favorite movie. She cleared her throat. It was a bit hoarse. Apparently she’d been screaming.  
  
“Good,” Franky said softly. “But you’re going to have to hear for us both. I think you busted my bloody eardrums,” she smiled as Erica released her hand. She moved fully on top of her partner and kissed her leisurely.  
  
Erica wrapped her legs around Franky’s waist and squeezed her tightly, reveling in the kiss. God she’d missed this. “Mmmmmm. That was truly inspired, love.”  
  
“You make it so easy. Fuck Erica. I think you got sexier.” She kissed her again. “How is that even possible?”  
  
Erica flipped them over and began kissing her way down Franky’s front. “I’ll let you consider that while I take care of a bit of business of my own.”  
  
**************************  
  
Nearly 16,000 kilometers away, Michael sat on her family's home veranda overlooking the Campo di Fiori in central Rome sipping a cappuccino. She loved Rome. Italian was her first language. She truly felt at home here. No matter what was happening in her life, being here in the heart of the city made her feel like the world was right and that she would be fine. Her heart was broken. Definitely. But she had amazing cappuccino and pastry -- usually sfogliatella -- every morning, fresh buffala mozzarella with home grown tomatoes and basil for supper, and fresh pasta for dinner. And the knowledge that people had been living here, in this very spot, eating the same food she was eating, walking the same streets, seeing the same sky and stars, made her problems seem so small and the gift of life so big. Life here was heavenly for her. Why in the world had she ever been persuaded to settle in Melbourne?

It was June, and hot and steamy. Michael was wearing white linen pants and a long, white linen, button down shirt. It was one that Franky had worn often after sex. She knew she was a fool to hold onto it in this way, but she couldn’t bear to let it go. It was comfortable. Comforting. It was about the only thing she had left of her life with Franky Doyle.  
  
When she had left Melbourne, she had purged her life completely of her. Every photo, every note, every bit of errant clothing — anything that reminded her of Franky Doyle had gone into the incinerator. Three months later, the sharp edge of pain that had driven her from Australia was starting to dull. Entire days passed where she didn’t think about Franky. She often thought about Stella, too, and what a complete arsehole she’d been to Franky’s sister on that last night at the club. Water under the bridge. There wasn’t anything to be done to repair that burned relationship, Michael was certain. If anyone had treated her like that…  
  
She even missed Erica, if she was honest. With a little distance, and the pregnancy, Michael had started to understand and actually commiserate with Erica Davidson. She’d heard the whole story from Franky early on, how after that first kiss, Erica had disappeared from her life for years without a word. Michael had been as confused and undone by Franky Doyle as Erica had been, she reaiized. Not understanding the gift under her nose while she had it. _I almost was you._ Those words kept echoing in Michael’s mind. If Erica had been the new kid on the block after she met Franky, and she kept coming on to her spouse the way Michael had, she was sure she would have run the blonde woman out of town.  
  
And Erica’s quite sage advice to not leave without saying good-bye had been prosaic. Michael now recognized that if she hadn’t spent the five extra minutes to look Franky in the face and tell her she was leaving, she would have never been able to get a real sense of closure. And she would never have forgiven herself. Franky probably wouldn’t have either. Erica was a good person, deeply in love with and protective of her spouse, as Michael would be. It was too bad Franky was between them. They might have been mates as well.  
  
Especially now. Erica’s twins must be nearly three months old now. Her son would only be about six or seven months behind them. Michael wondered if they’d had boys, girls, or one of each. She hadn’t been able to find anything online or in the paper, and had stopped tracking them, told her PI to keep an eye out for trouble, but otherwise, she didn’t need to know anything. And she didn’t. Know anything. About Franky and Erica, now, at all. What had been in the Melbourne paper about Stacey Arrington was a sick, twisted and sad tale of twins gone wrong. The only mention of “trouble magnet” Francesca “Franky” Doyle was to say that she had survived the attacks and continued to mind her own business with her partner in parts unknown.  
  
Of course Michael knew where they were. Thank god the media had the decency to keep the Davidson-Doyles somewhat shielded from other crazy people.  
  
But Michael was, once again, lonely. It wasn’t a foreign sensation. She’d been lonely all her life. But then found the friendship of Franky, then, yes, Erica. And even Stella. All that had opened up a completely different world for her, where she was just one of the guys. They really didn’t want anything from her but her company. She enjoyed spending time with them, and trusted that they wanted her around for her, not for her deMedici factor. And she had fallen in love with it all.  
  
She had that with very few people outside her immediate family. Which really only meant her father. Her brothers were… unpleasant. Sexist. Misogynist. Very culturally Italian man-boys. Elena hadn’t even returned her call about the pregnancy, but still doted on her brothers. She was likely on her way back to Melbourne now, knowing that Michael was in Rome. Her brothers’ wives were spineless, brainless arm candy and their children spoiled little monsters.  
  
Except for Angela, Ninni’s wife. She was trained as a medical doctor but had given it up to be the housewife and full time mother Ninni demanded, which Michael thought idiotic. But they got along well. Angela was only a few years older than Michael, but they had met over ten years ago when she had started dating Ninni while in medical school. She had married young and already had three children — two boys and a girl — the youngest of whom, Laura, was seven. They were all in Melbourne with their father, their nanny and their governess.  
  
She would have relished sharing parenting tips and advice with Erica. She certainly didn’t need anything from her sisters-in-law. The last thing she wanted was for her boy to turn out a spoiled little terror like his cousins.  
  
No one outside her immediate family knew she was pregnant. She was still barely showing six months in, and as long as she didn’t wear anything tight around her mid-section, no one was the wiser. She’d only contacted a few close friends, and avoided any formal events like the plague, though she had invitations coming out her arse. She was assisting her father with legal business a couple of hours a day, having kept her license to practice in Italy current. Otherwise, she was working out, eating well, and shopping for baby things. She had the baby’s room almost completely finished. The decorator should only be around for another couple of weeks and the only thing she had left to choose were linens for the bed.  
  
She patted her barely expanded belly as she again considered calling Cavalli. She had never informed him he was to be a father. She still wasn’t sure she wanted him in her life. He was a sweet guy, and she liked him well enough. But she wasn’t at all interested in marriage or sharing parenting. This baby boy was hers and hers alone. Still, she felt it was unfair that he didn’t even know about the child at all. But hadn’t yet felt guilty enough or inspired to make the call.

Angela was on her way over to the Campo di Fiori now. Her sister-in-law was a hands-off mother and thought nothing of leaving the children home with the nanny for days or weeks at a time. And gorgeous — from a northern Italian family, blond with hazel eyes. Supermodel thin with angular features. She treated her Michaela as a younger, favorite sister. They didn’t see each other often and Michael had forgotten how warm she could be. But when Angela heard Michael was in Rome alone and pregnant, she’d caught the next flight out.  
  
Just then she spied her making her way across the piazza. She stood up and waved, smiling as the older woman waved back. Several minutes later, she was greeting her on the veranda.  
  
“Ciao, Bella Michaela!” She announced, kissing Michael on each cheek. She looked her up and down. “I see you still have such sadness in your eyes.” She sat down across from Michael and lit a cigarette. She was a chain smoker, and her voice was deep and husky. “Finally. Tell me about this man who has broken your heart and abandoned you with child.”  
  
Michael grinned. Everyone in Italy called her Michaela. It drove Elena nuts, and Michael loved it because of that. “Well, if you must know. It wasn’t a man, it was a woman who broke my heart. The bambino is the result of the pathetic, drunken aftermath of being dumped.”  
  
Angela paused, eyeing Michael suspiciously. “You are lesbiana? Michaela. How did I not know this about you? When have you been sleeping with women?”  
  
Michael rolled her eyes. “I like sex. You know that. Why exclude half the population? Besides. This one was… different. I didn’t expect to have such feelings. I haven’t ever been in love before.” She was finding it surprisingly cathartic, talking about it for the first time to someone besides herself. Just putting it out there. God she’d missed Italy. These people did not judge. After two thousand years of consistent habitation, civilization and ongoing culture in Rome, they had seen everything and rarely batted an eye at anything.  
  
“Mamma mia!” Angela exclaimed, nodding to the servant who brought her an espresso. She stirred two heaping spoons of sugar into the tiny mug. “The first one is always the worst. But you will go on with life. Tell me about her. She was Italian, at least, yes?”  
  
“Half…” Michael started, and found the story pouring out of her.  
  
An hour later, Angela was regaling her with stories of her adventures with the first baby, before the nanny. Michael was laughing so hard she was in tears.  
  
“Love has taken down those sharp edges, Bella Michaela,” Angela chuckled. “I’ve never seen you laugh so. It suits you. You should laugh much more.”  
  
Michael hiccoughed self-consciously. Was she blushing? _Jesus_. “I think it’s the hormones. You keep telling me those stories, I’m going to piss myself.” She took a sip of water. “Where was Ninni all this time?”  
  
“Ninni?! Hah!” Angela barked. “Working or fucking his assistant. Who knows? But I quickly let go of the mama moltissima idea. Fuck that. I don’t think I even really like them. The young children. They are terrors. I’ll check back when they get a little more civilized. Past dodici.”  
  
“Angela. If they are monsters now, why do you think they will be different when they get to be teens? Seems like they will be worse. The time to get them civilized is from the bambino.”  
  
“Si. Si, Bella. Everything you know about raising children now you have one in your belly? Try that with an Italian husband. Doting. Spoiling.”  
  
Michael grimaced.  
  
“But let’s talk more about you. We need to find you another lesbiana lover, yes?”  
  
Michael blanched. “Oh god no! I’m focusing on the bambino. Nothing else. The last thing I need is anyone else complicating my life.”  
  
Angela smiled and lit another cigarette. “Trust me, Bella. You got to get back on that cavallo. I always want to try a lesbiana. We have an affair, you and me, yes? I will be your rebound. Then you move on.”  
  
Michael spit out the water she had been about to swallow. “Ok, Angela. Back that up and change the subject. I need to unhear that.” She fought the urge to giggle hysterically. And then a wave of sadness overtook her. Her first instinct had been to call Franky to tell her that her sister-in-law just propositioned her. Now, she was angry to find herself near tears.  
  
“Cara mia,” Angela said softly, and moved across to sit next to Michael, putting an arm around her. “Forgive me. It’s too soon for such play."  
  
Michael leaned into her, wrapping her arms around Angela’s waist. She felt the sobs coming on. She couldn’t stop it. _This was new. Must be the fucking hormones. FUCK._  
  
Angela slid over, pulling Michael half into her lap and cradling her head against her shoulder. “Let it go, Bella. I can take care of you now. That’s why I am here. I love you. You are my sister.”  
  
Michael looked up at her, her lip quavering. “You propositioned your sister?” She tried to smile.  
  
“Later. Right now, just have your sorrow. I will hold you.”  
  
And Michael did.


	16. You Don’t Need to Wonder

Franky lay on the floor of their St. Kilda flat tickling Jules and Mike, who were laughing hysterically and trying to escape her clutches. They weren’t quite crawling, but they had managed to get onto all fours and rock back and forth a bit, as if ready to surge into action. And Jules could scoot if she was motivated to reach for something. But they were still deliciously immobile and at their Mama’s mercy during playtime. All the time.  
  
“Will you put them in the high chairs, Franky? Dinner is ready,” Erica called from the kitchen.  
  
Franky grabbed each infant by one foot and stood. They laughed maniacally as she walked across the lounge room toward the kitchen, carrying them upside down. Erica raised an eyebrow as Franky approached.  
  
“Ahhh,” Franky looked down at the babies, then up at the chairs, then over at Erica. “You think if I chuck them, they’ll land upright?”  
  
“No,” Erica said, frowning, reaching for Michaela. “I don’t think chucking the girls into their seats is a good idea.” She walked across to the other side of the island, away from the chairs. “At least not from there. But from over here, I’m betting you could get just the right hang time.” She extended her arms up, raising Michaela high into the air and got an ear full of drool as a result. And a delicious baby chuckle.  
  
Franky finished strapping Jules in and she slapped her palms on the tray, yelling, “MAMA MAMAMAMA!” Her mama crossed to Erica and Michaela. Franky kissed her spouse thoroughly, pulling away only after she was quite sure Erica was breathless and the baby was pulling her hair. “I am definitely keeping you,” she said, grinning, taking Mike from her arms.  
  
Erica blinked, gasping, feeling a bit dizzy. Pleased that Franky still had that effect on her. “It’s a good thing. Or this would be kind of awkward.”  
  
“Reckon?” Franky secured a bowl of pureed carrots and began feeding them to Jules and Mike.  
  
Erica moved to Franky’s back, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her neck as she continued to feed the girls. “Have you thought about Mum and Da’s offer?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Any conclusions?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Come on, Franky. It’s kind of a no brainer.”  
  
Franky didn't respond.  
  
“Plus, live in baby-sitter. And Nelda.” Erica released her partner and reached for a bowl of similarly prepared green beans off the bench near the sink and began alternating spoonfuls of carrot with servings of beans. The girls were six months old now and had started on solid food in just the past week. They were hearty, enthusiastic adventuresome eaters. Like their mommy.  
  
And heartbreakingly cute. Franky smiled at her daughters as she deftly avoided Mike’s attempts at grabbing the spoon, but could not prevent her from putting her hands in her mouth and smearing half of her food on her face and the tray. And in her hair. She even managed to get some into Jules’ hair.  
  
_Mum and Da’s offer. Arrrgh!_  
  
A month prior, Bev and Justin Davidson had made Erica and Franky an extraordinary proposition of swapping houses. The six-bedroom family manse that Erica’s parents currently occupied was way too big for them without the brood, and they were ready to downsize. Franky and Erica’s family was growing, and they would soon need more space. The only catch, and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, was that Nic still lived at home. They would share the house with Nic until she decided to move out on her own, although she didn’t seem in any hurry to do so. She was keen to babysit Jules and Mike anytime she was available.  
  
And, of course, there was a full time housekeeper and cook. Nelda would likely require additional help with kids in the house again. Cleaning and cooking for three adults was a much different proposition than cleaning and cooking for three adults and two babies — soon to be toddlers — in over 3,000 square meters of house.  
  
Intellectually, Franky knew it made sense. And it sure would be easier than having to house shop themselves, look at neighborhoods, decide on schools. Erica and all of her siblings had grown up in the Double Bay neighborhood and the Davidson family was well established there. It would be easy for Erica and the twins to fit in, feel secure, safe. Plus, the schools there were fantastic.  
  
For Franky, it was all too easy. It made her feel trapped, as if she and Erica would eventually turn into Erica’s parents hosting holidays for the Davidson brood. The house was humongous and the extended Davidson clan congregated there by default, all having grown up in the house and staying fairly close by in Melbourne as adults with their own families. She wasn’t sure she was up to playing hostess to the clan in that way. Definitely not now. Not even in the near future.  
  
And another thing: even if Franky and Erica did end up with eight children, Franky had a hard time wrapping her head around occupying that much house. Besides not exactly fitting in with the Davidsons, Franky found the house too big and too extravagant for her comfort, although Erica had grown up that way and was clearly still enamored of the lifestyle. Franky had noticed how easily Erica had settled into deMedici’s penthouse, even if Erica herself hadn’t been very conscious of it.  
  
They hadn’t really had this conversation, about social and economic class. About the differences in their upbringing. Franky wasn’t a spendthrift by any stretch of the imagination. She very much enjoyed the comforts afforded by the wealth she now had access to. It was such a drastic change from how she’d spent her first 25 years of life, and she wasn’t trying to go back or deny herself anything she truly wanted to acquire. But she didn’t feel the need to be ostentatious or demonstrative about her ability to buy stuff. She did like to have nice things. Hell, she was still thinking about that Porsche.  
  
And she had learned a lot from Erica and from Michael about how to navigate the upper end of the social scale over the past few years: how to affect the right mannerisms, what was “polite” conversation. Franky was a quick study. She hadn’t survived the hard luck life she’d had by being dense and unilaterally contrarian or defiant. But it didn’t mean she had suddenly bought into socially exclusive mores or values. And she knew Erica didn’t either, even if she was deliberately obtuse about her own privileged upbringing.  
  
It just didn’t sit right with her. But somehow, “it’s too nice of a house and I don’t want your family all up under us” didn’t seem a valid argument. At least not one she wanted to make with Erica. She knew how important the extended family was to her spouse.  
  
Franky sighed. “I know. If it’s what you want, love, we should do it,” Franky said, quietly, focused on the girls eating, which made her smile again. _I could eat them up, they are so damn cute._ She pulled chairs over, one each for her and Erica so they could sit down as they continued to feed the kids.  
  
Erica watched Franky not look at her, lost in her own thoughts, truly puzzled as to what the hang up was here. The Davidson home could use some updates for sure — her parents had been in it for more than 30 years raising six children there. But other than the remodels, this seemed a simple ‘hell yeah’ from Erica’s perspective. No mortgage on either the house or the condo. No problem with increased monthly upkeep for the house/yard/pool. Affordability was not the issue.  
  
Franky tried to picture Boomer visiting in Double Bay. Or Liz. Or Doreen. She couldn’t. The condo was already swank enough that Franky was a bit embarrassed at having her friends there. Not that she had many visiting. But it was still an approachable flat, even if it was pretty posh. It wasn’t over the top, though. Three bedrooms. Two and a half loos. Not six bedrooms with four loos, three car garage, game/media room, wine cellar, and a swimming pool.  
  
The true bottom line, Franky finally realized, was that — easy upgrades aside — she didn’t want her girls growing up into entitled, arrogant arse-holes like she had experienced the Davidson family to be. Vince and Nic were pretty down to earth (even though Nic was spoiled as, 26 and still living at home). Erica’s father was a giant teddy bear for his wife and daughters. But the rest of the clan: the three other brothers, their wives, and Erica’s mother, were pretty uptight, conservative jerks. They were generally dismissive and disdainful of Franky and her relationship with Erica; and clearly disapproving of the “lesbian lifestyle,” whatever that seemed to mean to them in the 21st century. Erica didn’t notice, or refused to. And though Bev seemed to be softening up a bit toward Franky — some after they’d married and more now that they had the twins — the siblings were a nightmare from Franky’s perspective.  
  
Erica’s brothers, completely unaware that Franky had the $2.5 million cache in the bank from DeMedici, treated her like she was absolutely a gold-digger, that she would never belong, and could not measure up to the high-born Davidson clan by any metric. Not that the money even mattered to Franky — the bigger issue was that they were consistently disrespectful of her relationship with Erica and always talked down, insulting Franky more often than not, when they bothered to address her at all. Except for Nic and Vince. It didn’t get under her skin, really; but she didn’t trust that the Davidson family or the community in Double Harbor would ever fully accept her as Erica’s spouse, or as a parent to their children. Franky hadn’t anticipated this being a reality of her relationship with Erica — that the money or her background could ultimately divide them —  nor had she found the words to talk to her spouse about it.  
  
The truth was, she had hoped they wouldn’t have to deal with it. That they would continue to carve out their own space, find their own mates, develop their own social safety net of authentically caring mates and family alike. And Franky knew who were her mates, and who were not. It was times like this she missed the hell out of DeMedici and simultaneously wanted to kick her arse. Sometimes at the Davidson dinners, she even missed Wentworth. At least there she had a loyal group of allies around her most of the time. If she and Erica stayed at the St. Klida flat, or found their own house, they could continue to build their community on their own terms.  
  
But then Bev and Justin had come up with this brilliant, generous, loving plan to give them their fucking house.  
  
“Is it bath night?” Franky tried changing the subject. Both girls were now covered in carrots and beans — hair, hands, faces. She laughed at Jules smacking her lips, eagerly leaning into the spoon for more beans. “Last bite, crumbsnatcher!”  
  
“Yes,” Erica responded. “It is bath night.” She took the now empty bowl from Franky and put it with the green beans bowl in the sink, handing over a washrag so she could wipe down the girls before they took them out of the high chairs. “But you haven’t answered my question. What is it that’s really bothering you about this, love?”  
  
_I don’t want our kids to be insufferable pricks like your family, Erica._ “I’m sorry, honey. I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around it. That’s a lot of house. Do we really need that much space?” She finished wiping down Jules and started on Mike, who kept sucking on the rag. “It’s not very cosy over there at Chateau Davidson. Plus, aren’t you even a little worried about toddlers and the pool?”  
  
_Why is she having such a hard time with this?_ “What do you mean? You want to remodel? We can do that. We probably should update the bathrooms and the kitchen anyway. We can put in some chef-quality features that you will really enjoy, aye babe?” She tried to make eye contact with her partner. “And we grew up there. I was a baby there. We know how to handle pool safety.”  
  
Franky hiked Jules on one hip and reached for Mike. “Why don’t you take a break, love. Put your feet up. I’ll get the girls washed up and ready for dessert.” Dessert meaning boobies. They were still nursing, and tended to conk out for a straight eight to ten hours after solid food with a Mommy chaser for dinner.  
  
Erica followed Franky into the bathroom instead of relaxing, as her partner had suggested. “We need to talk about this…”  
  
“I know! I know! I just…”  
  
Erica leaned over to start the bath as Franky sank down onto the bathroom floor, placing both Mike and Jules next to her and starting to undress them. They were having quite an animated conversation with each other, and Franky struggled to stay focused on Erica while trying not to giggle at the emphatic exclamations between the girls. It sounded as if they were discussing an impending, very exciting night on the town, each talking over the other in increasing volume. Franky laughed.  
  
Erica sat back on her heels, listening to the cacophony, her brow furrowed in concentration. She watched Franky, who was completely absorbed with the babies now. She leaned over to kiss her partner on the forehead. “Ok,” she said. I’m going to go to the lounge. You’re okay here with them both?”  
  
Franky nodded without looking up as she stripped Mike’s nappy off and kissed her belly, eliciting a squeal of delight. Erica made her way back to the kitchen and quickly cleaned up the baby’s dinner dishes and chairs, then settled herself on the lounge with her twins nursing pillow across her waist, wishing she could have a glass of wine. She could easily imagine herself and Franky and the babies at her childhood home. She could imagine them there with more children. It made her loopy happy to think about it. But what could be stopping Franky from sharing that joy? She thought about their last family dinner at the Davidson home, barely a week ago.  
  
_Erica loved being at her parents’ home, her childhood home, for monthly dinners with the extended family. There was a level of comfort not just because she grew up there, but she really enjoyed seeing all of her brothers and sister, sister-in-laws and their children; and knowing that her daughters were getting to grow up amongst such a big, supportive, loving clan._  
  
_Dinner was finished and, as per usual, the men in the family had retired to the living room to watch footie while the women were in the kitchen cleaning up, talking amiably and occasionally checking on the children who were in the next room over, the lounge, which doubled as a game/media room. There were a good ten children there, ranging in age from Giuliana and Michaela at six months, to Aiden, Jason’s eldest, at 12. They seemed to get along quite well, and watched over the babies carefully._  
  
_Erica sat at the kitchen table sipping on a glass of pinot gris, talking to her sister-in-law Elle about bikini waxing, which Erica hadn’t had time to do since the girls were born. “It’s turning into 1970 down there,” she quipped, and Elle laughed heartily. They both turned their heads as a loud, collective groan went up from the living room._  
  
_Erica’s eyes were irrevocably drawn to Franky, who sat stiffly amongst the boys watching the match. A few seconds later, the room erupted in cheers as her brothers high-fived each other. Vince tackled Franky off the couch onto the floor and they wrestled a bit before settling down together amidst a tumble of oversized pillows, drinking beer and continuing to watch the match. Erica’s eyes narrowed as she saw Ashton actually sneering at Franky and Vince. He said something to Franky, and she flipped him off. Then 12 year old Aiden entered the room, deciding it was time to hang out with the big boys. He made a bee to lay down next to Franky and Vince._  
  
_“Eh boy,” Jason, Erica’s oldest brother called. “Up here with your Da.”_  
  
_Aiden crouched down next to Franky’s ear and whispered something to her. They grinned at each other conspiratorially, then he reluctantly went to sit next to his father on the couch. Franky was a big hit with the kids. Especially playing video games, which she could do with them for hours on end, and often did, rather than mix with either the Davidson women or men during the highly gendered social time after meals._  
  
_Erica frowned, excused herself from Elle, and entered the living room where she sat astride Franky’s hips on her bum. Franky turned underneath her spouse, onto her back, so she could see her. She smiled, but not before Erica saw the partial glower that had been there before Franky faced her._  
  
_“How you going?”_  
  
_Franky placed her hands on Erica’s hips and rolled her own slightly, urging Erica forward. “Better now,” she winked saucily._  
  
_Erica leaned forward, her hair dropping into a curtain around their faces as she placed one hand on either side of Franky’s head and kissed her. “What did Ashton just say to you?” She asked, quietly._  
  
_Franky leaned up for another kiss. “Nothing.”_  
  
_Erica dodged the kiss. But then thought better of it, and kissed Franky again, this time using her tongue, lingering. When she pulled back, she looked up to see Ashton watching. He shook his head disapprovingly, but didn’t say anything directly. He turned his attention back to the telly._  
  
_Vince turned to look at them, sipping from his beer seriously. “You know Ash gets wood when he sees you guys kissing.That’s why he gets so pissed.”_  
  
_Erica slapped Vince on the arm, hard, but kept her attention on Franky. “What did he say, Franky?”_  
  
_“Ummm. He said he had a really small dick and wanted some tips on going down on Elle, cuz he just can’t bring her to orgasm with penetration.” Vince had just taken a drink and spit it out onto Franky’s shoulder, laughing loudly._  
  
_Erica held her breath in an attempt to remain serious. She turned her attention to Ashton. “Problem, Ash?”_  
  
_“Nothing the good Lord won’t fix, eventually,” he retorted, not looking at them._  
  
_Erica rolled her eyes. “Jesus. When did you become such a tight arse?” She turned her attention back to Franky. “Join me upstairs for a quickie?” she said to her lover, feeling provocative after the ridiculously pious response from her brother._  
  
_“Don’t tease,” Franky responded, flipping them over so Erica was underneath. She leaned in for another kiss._  
  
_“What’s a quickie, Aunt Erica?” Aiden piped in from across the room._  
  
_“Dammit, Erica!” Josh exploded, pushing Aiden up off the couch, directing him back to the playroom. “I wish you would behave appropriately, at least in front of the children!”_  
  
_Franky rolled over onto her back and closed her eyes. “Sorry, babe,” she said quietly. Frustrated. Tired of these uptight people._  
  
_Erica sat upright, very still, piercing her brother with a look from the floor that could kill as he towered over her. “Taking my cues from you, Jase. Only as appropriate as you and Lisa.”_  
  
_The family was very affectionate, physically demonstrative. It wasn’t unusual at all for spouses to kiss or touch each other with other family members present. Erica wasn’t doing anything Jase, Mart and Ash hadn’t done a hundred times in a room full of Davidsons. Including the children._  
  
_“Unless you’re saying that my marriage, my relationship, is somehow different than yours.”_  
  
_“Theirs is legal, babe,” Franky said quietly._  
  
_Erica turned the glare to Franky, then back to Jason. Jason backed down immediately, but chimed in, “She said it. I didn’t.”  He sat down, but stared at her defiantly._  
  
_Erica stood up, fuming. “Is my family seriously a bunch of bigoted hypocrites? You forget yourself, brother. I know where every single skeleton in the family is buried. Especially yours.” Jason looked down at his feet, suddenly. “I love Franky. I am in love with Franky. We have sex. A lot. And it’s fantastic!” Everybody in the room, including Franky, groaned. “And we now have children together. Get over it.”_  
  
_This wasn’t the first time Erica had had to lecture her older brothers about their attitude toward her marriage. She thought they had become more accepting over time, it appeared that it was really only at face value, and that they continued to give Franky a pretty rough time._  
  
_Erica began walking around the room, daring her older brothers to make eye contact. All three of them refused to meet her gaze. She kicked them in the shins instead. “I know you don’t honestly think that not a single one of your children is going to turn out gay or transgender, do you? Well when you’re ready to throw them into the street, they’ll be welcome with us. We will give them everything they deserve, starting with unconditional love, you pricks! Jesus Christ I can’t believe I came out of this family!” She reached down for Franky’s hand. “Want to join me in the kitchen? The testosterone and arsehattery in here is stifling!”_  
  
_Franky looked up at her, beaming. “God I love you, Miss Davidson,” she said. “My knight in shining armor. But honestly, I prefer the dicks in here to the pussy-sniping I would get in there.”_  
  
_Vince laughed heartily and Martin exploded as well, which he tried to stifle. Even Ashton smiled then tried to pretend he hadn’t. Jason continued to frown, but did look appropriately chagrinned._  
  
_“Besides,” Franky continued, smiling. “Match is tied. It’s just getting good. I could use a fresh lager, though.”_  
  
_Erica ruffled her fingers through Franky’s hair affectionately, and walked away, returning minutes later with a bottle of beer. She knelt down and leaned across Franky on the floor, who again turned over to face her. She kissed her. Demonstratively. “Are you okay in here, babe? Seriously?”_  
  
_Franky frowned. “Hmmm,” she murmured. “Davidson’s living room… Wentworth. Wentworth… Davidson’s living room.” She looked up, eyes twinkling. “You sure you want to know?”_  
  
_Erica kissed her again. “Why don’t we leave the girls here tonight?” she said under her breath as she pulled back but remained within millimeters of her lover’s lips. Her face was flushed a rosy pink with arousal._  
  
_“Won’t your tits explode or something?”  Erica laughed at that image. Franky continued. “They’ll sleep in tomorrow. They’ll be exhausted from the workout they’re getting in the play room now.”_  
  
_Just then a piercing baby cry erupted from the other side of the house. “Mike,” they said, simultaneously. “I’ll get her,” Erica said, kissing Franky one last time on the nose, and left the room._  
  
_After several minutes of loud, inconsolable sobbing, Erica brought Michaela into the living room and handed her to Franky. Ashton and Jason grumbled audibly and Erica caught Ash’s death-stare at Franky and Michaela as she exited the room. She turned to go back in and give Ash a piece of her mind again, when she saw Franky flip him off for a second time that evening. She then sat up with their daughter in her lap, scratching Michaela’s belly soothingly. The baby girl stopped crying almost immediately and relaxed against her mama, wrapping her tiny fingers around Franky’s, transfixed by the football match on the television. Erica didn’t think any more of it as she went back into the kitchen to continue talking with the other Davidson women._  
  
_But now, trying to figure out Franky’s reticence about this house swap, Erica extrapolated back in time. She and Franky had been together nearly three years. At least 25 Davidson family dinners. And this was the level of hostility her partner still faced when she wasn’t in the room? Jesus. How could I be so fucking obtuse? She laid her head back against the lounge and closed her eyes as she quietly chastised herself. It was likely Franky didn’t trust her family to treat the girls well when she wasn’t around, let alone the rest of the Double Bay community that had spawned such bigots. Erica was embarrassed. And resolved to do something._  
  
_At the very least, she needed to be more proactive with her family, challenging them about their attitude toward her family and especially her partner. All the little snide, backhanded comments from her sisters-in-law suddenly took on new, more insidious meaning taken in context with the boys’ attitude towards Franky and what she’d witnessed last week. Had she really not known how nasty they were being, or had she just avoided it, blocked it out of her consciousness, because she could and because she knew it wouldn’t phase Franky? After all, they never said anything directly to Erica. Just the derisive comments about her spouse. Which, if truth be told, she tended to ignore rather than pushing back._  
  
_Must be awkward at decent restaurants. Does she even know what tableware to use?_  
  
_Did you show her how to shape her eyebrows? Exquisite job, by the way._  
  
_She is quite stunning for someone from… well. Thank god she doesn’t have, like, facial tattoos or anything. You can’t really tell she’s a convict just by looking at her. When her arms and legs are covered, anyway._  
  
_Does she ever get, you know, violent? I mean, you can take a girl out of the ghetto… OMG, Erica! Has she ever hit you?_  
  
If they only knew.  
  
But now they had two precious little girls to think about. And Erica wanted more children. Franky was right. No one, especially not her own brothers and sisters-in-law, were going to fuck with their kids. Make them feel like they were less than, or different than any other kids. If she was right about what was going on with Franky, anyway.  
  
So they would need to find another house.  
  
She listened to the sounds of the girls cooing as Franky sang to them. They must have finished with the bath, and Franky was dressing them in their jammies. A few minutes later, her three girls emerged from the back of the flat, one baby clinging to each of Franky’s hips, their brown curls damp and bouncing as Franky skipped into the room with them.  
  
“Ready for dessert?” Franky kissed each baby on the head and then sat next to Erica, handing her Jules while she settled Michaela on the side of the nursing pad closest to her. They immediately went to town, as expected.  
  
Franky settled in next to Erica, watching the babies nurse. It was such an incredible process to Franky, still, watching them take sustenance from her partner. Thinking about Erica bringing these two girls to term inside her body, then pushing them out. How fast they were growing, fascinating little personalities emerging.  
  
“Franky?”  
  
“Yes, love.” She kissed her on the cheek.  
  
“So about the house…”  
  
“Gah!” Franky stood up, her face scrunched as if in pain. “I’m going to put the bathroom back in order. Toys everywhere…”  
  
“Sit down, Franky.”  
  
“Erica…”  
  
“Franky.” Franky sat, her face in her hands. “What did Ash say to you in the living room last week? When you flipped him off?”  
  
Franky sat back, looked up at the ceiling, then at Erica, and sighed in defeat. “The first or the second time?”  
  
“The first time.”  
  
“He said that he and Elle had talked, and that they realized that you and I were going to hell but there was no reason that Mike and Jules should, so they would graciously take them to St. Francis when they were old enough.” Franky and Erica both had been raised Catholic, ironically rendering their own conversation about religion pretty short. They were both happily lapsed and had no intention of going back in. But several of the Davidson extended clan attended the Double Bay Catholic church regularly.  
  
“Christ. I don’t even know where that comes from. We went to St. Francis growing up, and Mum and Da are pretty conservative. But I haven’t been to church in years. I know Martin doesn’t go regularly. Vince and Nic hardly ever. I didn’t even know he was active.”  
  
“Well, apparently he’s up close and personal with Jesus.”  
  
“I mean, the point is that nobody ever says that kind of stuff to each other in our family. Like we can’t make our own decisions about our faith.”  
  
“I guess Ashton figures you’ve been severely compromised.”  
  
“My arse,” she sighed, then winced. “Ah!” She patted Giuliana’s head. Giuliana stopped nursing for a few seconds as she made eye contact with her mommy, then went back into blissful sucking, blinking sleepily. “Have you seen teeth? I haven’t seen any teeth, or even signs of teething.  But that felt like a bite!”  
  
Franky moved to Erica’s other side and pulled Jules’ head from the nipple, sticking her thumb into the baby’s mouth against her bottom gums. Jules began to whimper, and Franky put her back in position. “I didn’t feel anything.” She stroked her daughter’s head affectionately. “I can’t stand to think about anyone hurting them, Erica,” she said quietly. “Even if it’s just with words. I don’t know what I would do. Especially if it was coming from their own family.”  
  
_Ahhhhhh, damn! I was right._ Her family was full of jerks and Franky didn’t want the girls to be exposed to that. They would have to develop some level of armor, just by virtue of the fact that they were in a family with two mommies. But times were changing. And they definitely didn’t need to catch shit from their own cousins, aunties and uncles. Nor did Franky deserve to be put in a constant defensive position within her own extended family.  
  
“I didn’t realize they were such pricks to you, honey. About us. I mean I knew they were being arsehats; but I guess I didn’t really think that through. To what that might mean for the mini-me’s. I know you can take care of yourself.”  
  
Erica was a bit devastated with this realization, as she finally accepted the truth about her people. She came from a family of bigots. How she’d managed to escape it herself, she wasn’t entirely clear, but she always did have a strong sense of wanting everyone to be treated fairly. She’d never felt disoriented or afraid around people who were different — race, class or gender-wise, and didn’t remember her parents ever saying anything that would make her feel so. Although in retrospect, she had grown up in a racially homogeneously upper class community. She had taken the initiative herself to seek out different people, different experiences. That was why she’d gotten into social work after becoming an attorney and finally leaving her father’s firm. That was why she’d ended up tutoring Franky at Wentworth.  
  
Franky didn’t say anything, She continued to run her fingers through Jules’ hair, not making eye contact. Letting this sink in for her partner.  
  
“I’m sorry, Franky. I’m sorry I haven’t said something sooner. That I still seem to be so clueless about how easy things have been for me.”  
  
Franky finally looked up at her. “Don’t be sorry about that, Erica. I hope our kids grow up to be so clueless, too,” she said, earnestly. Meaning it. “But not entitled arsehats.” She smiled, trying to take the edge off.  
  
Erica smiled ruefully, knowing that Franky meant that as a compliment. “Well, I don’t want them to be so naive. I want them to have their feet on the ground and to understand how privileged they are. And that everyone isn’t. Maybe we should start house shopping in a less posh neighborhood. Somewhere with a little more diversity. Maybe where there are some people that don’t look like us.”  
  
Franky looked at her in mock horror.  
  
“Stop it. I’m serious. Just because my family are racist bigots doesn’t mean my kids will be.”  
  
“Erica,” Franky saw how hard this realization was for Erica. “You’re family isn’t actually all that bad.”  
  
“Seriously, Franky? Anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?”  
  
Franky looked away, whistling nonchalantly. She examined her fingernails. Straightened the magazines on the coffee table.  
  
Erica chuckled. “OK. Point made. I wish you had said something to me before.”  
  
“Shyeah.” Franky scoffed. “Like that would have been received well.” Franky went to the liquor cart and poured herself a shot of vodka. “‘Excuse me, love of my life. I’ve noticed your parents are snooty bigots. Which is actually okay, compared to your brothers, who are snooty, smarmy, arrogant racist bigots.’”  
  
Erica winced. “Ouch. That bad, huh?”  
  
“Yeah. And remind me to tell you what’s really going on with Ash and Elle when the babies are asleep. You’re going to piss yourself.” She drank the shot and almost immediately her hands stopped shaking. She hadn’t realized, until they were in it, how tense she’d been about this issue. About how afraid she’d been that this would be a wedge they would not be able to bridge.  
  
“What do you mean?” What else could she be possibly missing about what was really going on in her family? Was it something else that could negatively impact their kids? _Jesus_ …  
  
“Later. They’ll be scarred for life.”  
  
“Knock it off and tell me!” Erica squirmed impatiently, trying to throw a pillow from the couch at Franky. She jostled Mike, who had just about fallen asleep. She jerked awake and began sucking again in earnest.  
  
Franky poured another shot and drank it. “Beards. Both of them. I used to see Elle out at the clubs when I was out with deMedici. It wasn’t until I saw Ash at your parents house that I realized I’d seen him out too. I don’t think he knows that I know. But Elle does.”  
  
Erica inhaled sharply. “You have got to be kidding.”  
  
“Why do you think she avoids me like the plague?”  
  
“She recognizes you? From the clubs?”  
  
“Uh, a bit more than ‘recognize.’ How much information do you really want about me and your sister-in-law?”  
  
Erica scrunched up her face. She felt nauseous. “Oh god. Please tell me you didn’t…” She exhaled. “Oh god, Franky. I think maybe I didn’t want to know that.”  
  
Franky barreled on, now that this cat was out of the bag.“It’s actually refreshing how much I don’t care to out either of them. I really don’t care. I do want to punch Ash in the mouth when he gets morally righteous, though. That’s what you saw last week.” Franky watched Erica carefully, hoping to divert her partner’s thoughts from the image of herself and the sister-in-law doing the nasty.  
  
_Well, I care, Erica seethed. The nerve! She sat across from me all of those dinners, and she…! She actually… I’m going to fucking stab her in the fucking eye! FUCK!_ Erica closed her eyes. “How many times?” she growled through gritted teeth.  
  
“Erica…”  
  
“You can’t just drop a bomb like that and expect for me to let it go. Did you date her?”  
  
“Christ no. It was just once. Not worth repeating. And before you. Way before you, Erica,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I never intended for you to know that.” She thought for a minute. “But I’m glad it’s out, now. I’m glad you heard it from me, instead of some blow up with them.” She was quiet for several minutes. The babies were asleep, sucking reflexively. “Maybe we should go find a small island somewhere…”  
  
Franky referred back to an idyllic time for them — their honeymoon on a private island in Tahiti. Four weeks of bliss, the two of them alone. “God you were so beautiful, coming out of the surf naked. No tan lines. No Davidsons…”  
  
Erica didn’t have anywhere to put this information about her brother and sister-in-law and the swell of rage for the moment. She let herself be carried back in her imagination to their island. “God yes. Let’s go back there.”  
  
“Just say the word, Erica. We don’t need this stuff. I’m serious.”  
  
Erica met her partner’s eye. Franky did mean it. But Erica wasn’t ready to give up on her family, rat bastards though some of them were. “We should go back. You, me, our girls. But that’s not a solution.” She closed her eyes again, scrubbing Elle and Ash from her thoughts for the moment. When she opened, she looked down at the twins. They were knocked out.  
  
“They’re asleep, love. Lets put them to bed.” Erica fastened her bra and buttoned her shirt.  
  
After they put the twins down, Franky heated up some leftovers that they shared for dinner, then went to their spare bedroom/office to check her email. She had been trying to figure out how to arrange her work flow so that she could work one day from home. She missed her girls so much since she’d gone back to FemLaw full time. For the past couple of weeks she had been checking her email and trying to get a jump on the next day by putting in an hour or so at home before bedtime. It was working, but not completely sorted yet, so she still had to go into the office a full five days per work week.  
  
This left Erica to her own devices for plenty of time to fester further about Ash and Elle. Then to make a quiet, possibly ill-advised angry phone call from the lanai.  
  
“Ash?”  
  
“Oi! Erica? How you going?”  
  
“A bit tossed, actually. I’ve just learned that both you and Elle are GAY.” She’d decided not to pull any punches. It was time to get in front of this, all of this shit with her family.  
  
“    “  
  
“Did you know that Franky and Elle knew each other? From the clubs? From before? Ashton?”  
  
“Erm….”  
  
“Yeah. I’m just finding this shit out myself. And you can imagine, I’m not happy. So how about you stop fucking with me, bro, and talk to me about what’s going to change.”  
  
“Erica, listen…“  
  
“I can’t believe you tried to bring our children into your fucking mess! What the hell is the matter with you, Ash? Huh? I’m having a hard time understanding this.” She was winding herself up more now.  
  
“Uhhhh…”  
  
“You know what, just SHUTUP!” she hissed, trying not to alert her spouse to her heated conversation. “I’m done. You and Elle will change your attitude towards Franky and me. Dramatically! In fact, you will become our best friends and staunchest defenders at dinner from now on. Figure it out, buddy.” Erica paused to see if he had anything to contribute. But not for very long. “And work on Mart and Jase. Hypocrisy stops now or I’m finished with the lot of you!”  
  
She hung up before he could respond.  
  
Later, in bed, after an intense session of ostensible make-up sex, Erica lay breathless in Franky’s arms. They hadn’t had a fight, exactly. But their earlier conversation had stirred up a lot of frenetic, angry energy for Erica. They had agreed to work it out with some toys. Franky had paddled her well. She lay almost entirely on Franky, her reddened, stinging bum exposed to the cool night air.  
  
“Anything else I don’t know but should know about my family?”  
  
Franky contemplated telling her about her parent’s dom-sub relationship. Erica’s mother was a dom. Her father a sub. _Obviously_. Erica leaned up and peered intently into Franky’s face. “Franky…”  
  
“Not a thing, my love. Not a thing.”  
  
Several hours later, Franky woke suddenly, sweating and shaking, sitting straight up in bed, tumbling Erica off her chest. The only thing she remembered from what must have been a disturbing dream was the silence.  
  
*******************************************  
  
A couple of oceans and several seas away, at the exact moment that Franky awoke shaking, Michael Lee deMedici gave one final push and bambino Gianni Francesco deMedici was born into a private hospital in Rome. Throughout the entire labor and delivery of her baby boy, she never made a sound.  
   
Two months later, Michael sat in a cafe in Rome with a cappuccino, pastry, and three newspapers in front of her on the table with little Gianni swaddled against her chest in a sling. Angela sat across from her, smoking and sipping coffee with Frangelico.  
  
“Angela,” Michael said quietly, not looking up from her copy of the Melbourne _Herald Sun_. “Could you at least not smoke right next to the baby?” She shivered slightly as someone entered the cafe and a brisk early October breeze blew into the room, a hand reflexively moving to cover the baby’s stocking-capped head against the chill.  
  
Motherhood agreed with Michael. Tremendously. She had never felt as clear about anything as she did about being a protector and parent to the perfect little bundle snuggled sleeping against her chest. The pregnancy had been relatively trouble-free, the labor and delivery quick, due to her excellent physical shape. She had already started swimming again, and was sure Gianni was going to be a world class swimmer as well. The kid loved the water.  
  
“Ah. Si. Si. Mi scusi, Bella.” Angela hurried to stub out her cigarette. “Anything happening in Melbourne? I hope my children are not on the front page.”  
  
“Nothing interesting.” She pushed the paper over to Angela and started in on Co _rriere della Sera_. “I got a call from the office yesterday,” she said, nonchalantly.  
  
“Your father called you? From where? I thought he was here?”  
  
“From Melbourne. From that legal aid agency where I was volunteering.”  
  
Angela downed her drink and waived to the waiter for a refill. She took out another cigarette but didn’t light it. “That turned out a big mess, eh? Those scary twins, ehhhhh, Tracey. Stacey. What do these people want from you now?”  
  
“They want me to come back. Take over. Run the place.”  
  
Angela was only vaguely interested in work things. Only passingly interested in anything outside of the circle of her immediately family and the deMedici. “Ah, Bella. But you now have Gianinni. You aren’t seriously considering leaving that precious bambino to go to work? Back in Melbourne? Amongst the heathens?” Angela eyed her incredulously. She also preferred Rome, but couldn’t get her husband to even consider having the children so far from him for most of the year.  
  
Michael sighed and leaned back in her chair, using one hand to separate the cloth of the sling to check on her son, while reaching for her coffee with the other. He was still sleeping blissfully. “I don’t know. I kind of miss it. And since when did you become a baby fan? What about waiting until their teens to interact?” she teased.  
  
“Comé mai, Michaela? With this thing about working? And Gianinni is such a perfect child! Nothing like my little monsters. I wish my babies were so dolce.” She took a sip from her fresh coffee and cleared her scratchy throat. “I know! We need to find you a lover! I am so sorry to have dropped that mission. But you seemed so content.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out her iphone, beginning to search through her contacts.  
  
“No! Angela, please!” Michael laughed. “That’s the last thing I need. I’m just… I’m getting antsy.“  
  
“What about tu amica, come si chiama? Francesca? You have talked with her? Maybe she comes to visit you here?”  
  
Michael didn’t feel the sharp pang in her chest that she’d expected upon hearing Franky’s name spoken aloud. She sat with that for a moment. “She has twin baby girls now. I haven’t spoken to her since I left.” But she had asked her PI to find out about Erica’s birth, that everyone was happy and healthy. She still hadn’t quite let go.  
  
“So call her. Talk to your friend. Have you sent her a picture of the bambino bello?”  
  
Michael cleared her throat, put her coffee down and picked up the last bite of pastry, nibbling it. “No,” she said quietly.  
  
“Mamma mia!” Angela moaned. “Send the photo. Phone tu amica. Why not now? It’s still early there.” She eyed her sister-in-law for a moment. “You isolate yourself, Michaela.” Angela sucked her teeth. “Why?”  
  
Michael looked down at the table, then reached for her iphone which was next to her coffee cup, and scrolled through some of the more adorable photos of her baby boy, whose hair was jet black like hers, but curly; whose skin was a light cafe au lait, and whose eyes were resolving into the same violet as hers and Elena’s. She was deeply in love with her beautiful son. As was her father, who would be devastated if she took him back to Melbourne now.  
  
She thought about the isolation. It was the way she was used to operating when she was at the family law firm. It kept things clean and easy. Plus, she was around family all the time, busy working, in court, going to parties, clubs, other events. She hadn’t had time or inclination for many interpersonal relationships. She’d preferred it that way.  
  
And then she met Franky Doyle.  
  
“Her name is Franky. She hates being called Francesca,” she said to Angela. She found a photo of Gianni with a half smile. He had a habit of doing that, curling up one side of his mouth before he smiled fully. It made his mama melt.  
  
And now that Michael had a son, was no longer involved very much with the family business, she found herself craving a different kind of community. If she was honest, it was the one she had started to build with Erica and Franky and Stella.  
  
Relationships with real people. People without deMedici agendas. Of course Michael appreciated the power and privilege afforded to her by being born into the family. She knew there were many ways in which she took it for granted. But she despised the way it had twisted them all — her father, her brothers. Especially her mother.  
  
Michael wanted something different. For her son and for herself as a mother. She would not turn into Elena.  
  
“I could run that place. Easily. It’s been struggling with funding and private support because of the negative publicity. My being there, in front, could help turn the image around. And I like the idea of having an identity that isn’t just based on deMedici Law and the family.” She finished her coffee. “Something that actually helps people. Plus, I would be working with Franky again. We’re a good team.”  
  
She continued to notice that talking about Franky didn’t produce the ice pick of pain through her chest, and tried not to think as she pressed several commands on the touch screen. Seconds later, she put the mobile back down on the table. The photo had gone both to Erica and to Franky.  
  
_Ciao to the Davidson-Doyle family from Gianni Francesco deMedici._  
  
Angela frowned. “Bella. You can help those people without actually being among them, yes? I still don’t understand this need to work. There are so many better things to do. Speaking of which, it is time to return to my family. But after a few days on Capri. With you. Shopping. Si?”  
  
Within a minute, she received a responding buzz on her mobile. Her hand didn’t shake as she reached for it. Angela lit another cigarette. Michael stood and walked toward the door, nodding in affirmative to a few days in Capri, and calling back to Angela that she was walking home. Once she exited the cafe, she activated her phone.  
  
From the small screen, two pairs of blue eyes peered back at her, framed by chubby, angelic cheeks, big grins with a few tiny teeth poking up, and full heads of wavy brown hair. They were beautiful, Franky and Erica’s girls.  
  
_Giuliana and Michaela say to bring your arse back home!_  
  
Michael’s breath caught. Gianni began to fuss. It was time for him to eat.  
  
*********************************************  
  
After a spectacular dining experience at Florentino, their favorite restaurant, where Franky had personally talked with the chef and had them prepare a special anniversary menu, they were now home with an entire baby-free evening ahead of them. As they stepped inside their front door, Franky wrapped her arms around Erica from behind, pulling her snugly against her chest. It was uncharacteristically warm for October and they were both wearing light clothing. Erica could feel Franky’s nipples hard against her back.  
  
“What do you want to do now,” Franky asked innocently, licking her partner’s ear.  
  
Erica tried not to shiver. “Well,” she turned in Franky’s arms. “I’m pretty knackered. Maybe we could go to bed early?” She leaned in and kissed her spouse, leisurely, sliding her tongue around Franky’s, daring herself to take this slow. While they had managed to have sex a few times over the past couple of months, they hadn’t really had the luxury of turning their attention solely to one another for an entire evening through to morning since the twins were born. Erica didn’t want to miss a thing.  
  
Franky smiled against the teasing mouth as she interlaced their fingers, pulling Erica’s hands back behind her own back, squeezing, kneading the shapely bum as she deepened the kiss hungrily.  
  
Erica moaned and pulled away, breath rasping. “Franky, please. I don’t want to go off too quickly.”  
  
Franky kissed her way down Erica’s neck as she backed her toward the bedroom. “Too bad,” she whispered in her ear, then bit the lobe. “Because I’m going to fuck you till you scream. Right now.” She claimed her mouth again, hungrily.  
  
Erica’s legs hit the bed and she fell back, squeaking with astonishment. She hadn’t realized they’d made it all the way to the bedroom.  
  
Franky dropped to her knees in front of Erica’s legs as Erica tried to close them. “Franky… You’re making me crazy. I don’t want to feel crazy tonight. I want to feel everything,” she said quietly, running her fingers through soft brown locks. There was a frenetic energy around Franky tonight that she hadn’t felt since before the girls were born. Since they had last seen the Ice Queen, if she thought about it. Erica wanted to slow it down, dispel it before they made love.  
  
Franky kissed Erica’s knees, which were pressed together, and gently inserted her hands between them, coaxing the lithe, firm thighs apart. She stared intently into Erica’s eyes. She was on fire. “I need you in my mouth, coming in my mouth, love. Now.” She kissed along one thigh, then the other, making her way toward Erica’s now heated center.  
  
_No control. No control. How is is that three years in I still can’t control my body with her?_ Erica’s musings stopped abruptly as Franky’s tongue lightly swiped her through her panties. “Oh fuck,” she groaned. As the heat rippled up through her belly to her breasts, she made one last feeble attempt to slow things down. Putting one hand on Franky’s head and gripping the hair, pulling her up so they could make eye contact. Franky was on fire. She licked her lips lasciviously. One elegant eyebrow arched in question. Erica didn’t have an answer. “Just…” she inhaled sharply when Franky blew on her clit.  “Make it last more than ten seconds. Please.”  
  
Franky grinned, more than pleased to torture her lover for several minutes. For the first orgasm anyway. She hooked her fingers into the top of Erica’s very sexy knickers and swiftly pulled them off, then nestled herself between her legs, wrapping her arms around Erica’s hips. True to her promise, she started gently with butterfly kisses to the pulsing slit, teasing kisses around but not diving in until Erica moaned, placing a hand on the back of Franky’s head, urging her to dive deeper.  
  
Franky did not disappoint.  
  
Erica awoke first, sprawled across Franky’s back. It was barely six in the morning and her back stung pleasantly from the instrument of torture treatment last night. She didn’t figure there were any marks, but she kind of hoped there were. It would likely be awhile before they could pull out the toys again in the way they had been able to celebrate their anniversary night. Her mind pleasantly reminisced about their third anniversary celebration, just the two of them at a quiet, romantic dinner. Then hours of incredible sex. Next year they should have a party. They hadn't had a big wedding -- never publicly celebrated their union. It was time for a big Davidson-Doyle party. Maybe at their new house. When they found it.  
  
She heard it again: _Cause you make me feel (yeah, yeah) / Cause you make me feel wild (yeah, yeah) / You touch my inner smile._ Franky’s ring tone. Or text tone. Someone was texting Franky at 6am? She reached for the mobile on the night stand, but Franky beat her to it, while reaching the other hand around to squeeze Erica’s bum.  
  
“Morning, love,” she said hoarsely, activating her phone. “Who the fuck you think’s texting me at this time of the morning?”  
  
“Probably your new girlfriend,” Erica answered, equally hoarse. They had both been quite vocal last night. “You haven’t had time to explain the rules, yet, aye?”  
  
Franky’s breath caught.  
  
“What is it?” Erica slid over across Franky’s back so she could look over her shoulder, see what Franky was seeing.  
  
The tiny screen held a miniature, chiseled baby face, if a baby can be chiseled. Curly black hair. Violet eyes. “Oh my god. He’s beautiful,” Erica breathed out next to Franky’s ear. She could feel Franky’s entire body tightening up beneath her.  
  
Franky put her head down, pushing the mobile away from her, across the bed. “Fuck her,” she mumbled against the sheet.  
  
“Franky,” Erica scolded, rolling off her and reaching for the mobile. She reactivated it and looked at the photo again. Gianni Francesco deMedici. Did she name him after Franky? Erica thought for a second, then scrolled through Franky’s photos finding one of the more jubilant pictures of the twins. She responded to Michael’s text with a message from the Davidson-Doyle girls.  
  
Then turned to look at her spouse, who was still face-planted in the sheets, sulking. “You used to be the adult in that relationship,” she stroked Franky’s back gently. “What just happened?”  
  
Franky turned her head and met Erica’s calm, sated blue eyes with angry green, roiling seas. “Fuck her. It’s our anniversary. She knows that.” She pulled Erica into her arms and kissed her neck. “This is our time.” She settled herself on top of her lover, between her legs. Erica wrapped her thighs around Franky’s.  
  
Erica thought about that, then made a conscious decision to not go down that road. At a very basic level, she realized that the frenetic energy from last night must have been tapping into deMedici’s anxious energy, or vice versa. Despite the thousands of kilometers separating them, they were still connected on some fundamental level. It was undeniable. Which meant that Michael was likely coming back. Soon. Erica needed to evolve from jealous lover to secure partner and co-parent to their children. She felt like that already, but Michael had been gone for nearly a year. What would it look like for her to be back in their lives?  
  
She flexed her hips, rubbing herself against her lover. “I’d rather you fuck me,” she husked, then kissed her, nipping her bottom lip. Franky kissed her back. Hard. The earlier tenseness and surliness about deMedici’s untimely communication seemed to be quickly dissipating, as Franky focused on her lips, her tongue, her hips. _Thank you Jesus!_  
  
Then Erica’s stomach growled. Loudly.  
  
Franky broke the kiss, chuckling. “Fuck you or feed you, Miss Davidson? Do you have a preference at the moment?”  
  
“Yes, I do,” Erica murmured against her lips as she kissed her again, with intent, squeezing Franky’s arse, pressing their bodies together more tightly.  
  
Franky adjusted herself so that their legs were intertwined. She felt Erica’s wetness as she was sure Erica felt hers.  
  
Erica’s stomach erupted again. “Damn! I’m sorry. I think I have to eat first. I’m starving!”  
  
“Insatiable,” Franky quipped, smiling, rolling off the bed and strolling naked into the kitchen to prepare her partner some breakfast.


	17. In the Early Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief update for continuity fix -- no real changes to the chapter. Thanks to Nef for the support!

“I’m in the neighborhood. Mind if I come up for a few minutes? I need a baby girl fix.” Stella sat on her motorbike in front of Franky and Erica’s building. It was an unseasonably warm November and she shrugged out of her leather jacket. Pain in the ass to have to wear leather in the summer, but worth it to save her skin from road rash. She didn’t really need to ask permission to visit her twin, but she didn’t like to open the door unannounced. Never knew what her sister and sister-in-law might be up to in there on a Saturday afternoon. Maybe something kinky. Stella smiled to herself.  
  
Franky juggled the landline receiver with one hand and spooned mashed peas for Jules and Mike with the other. “But you should know that deMedici will be here in less than an hour.”  
  
The smile quickly turned to a frown. “Oi! Fuckall, Franks! She’s back?”  
  
“Yeah. Apparently. I mean, Erica talked to her a couple weeks ago. She said she was coming back to FemLaw this week. And the chair of our board of directors told me they had offered deMedici the top executive position. But I wasn’t going to believe it until I saw it.”  
  
“Shit. She talked to Erica? Why not you? And why didn’t you tell me? She’s gong to be your boss again?” Stella coasted her biked down the driveway and keyed in the code for the carpark gate amidst her nervous stream of questions. Memories of her times with Michael — sweet, delicious, intimate times with Michael — assaulted her consciousness. As did their last encounter, where Michael unceremoniously dumped her by leaving the club with someone else. They hadn’t spoken since. “Shit, Franks. Not sure I want to see her today.” She secured her helmet to the bike and walked toward the lift.  
  
“Sorry, love. It’s been a hectic time and we haven’t seen much of you. I’m trying to feed the girls while Erica gets cleaned up, yeah? Come on up, Stel. Let yourself in.”  
  
“I know I haven’t been around much. Sorry — TRT has been a clusterfuck the last couple of weeks.” She sighed heavily as she waited for the lift to open. “Think I’d rather be shot at than deal with deMedici, though…”  
  
Erica picked up the handheld extension in the bedroom. “Stella! Please. I need you!”  
  
“Ahh, fuckall Gorgeous.” Stella smiled into the mobile as she heard Erica’s silky tone. She had always had a heavy crush on Erica, even nothing was ever going to happen there. Still, Stella enjoyed the goofy and bashful teenager feeling her sister-in-law inspired. “You know I can’t say no to you. Be right up.” A nice balm to the feelings inspired by thoughts of seeing deMedici . She rang off.  
  
“What do you need, honey?” Franky called back to the bedroom from the kitchen. “Anything I can do?”  
  
She watched with dismay as Mike put her hand in her mouth, pulling it out covered in green mash, which she proceeded to wipe into Jules’ hair.  
  
“Basta, Michaela! Christ!” Franky, hissed. She had been trying to speak exclusively in Italian to the girls when they started repeating sounds and words. They already had a pretty good grasp of both languages. Michael should be impressed. But right now, Franky was frustrated. Why did Mike have to be so damn messy? She would barely have time to shower herself after cleaning up the disaster her daughter was making of herself and her sister. And if nothing else happened, she wanted to appear cool, calm and collected for this reunion with deMedici. Not disheveled and disoriented; messy or out of control. But she was about at her wits end with nervous tension and no outlet. “Sweet baby jesus!” She practically barked at her daughters.  
  
Both Mike and Jules looked up at her startled and confused, blue eyes peering warily at their mama. They were having lunch as they usually did around mid-day. And Mike was putting food everywhere like she usually did. Franky immediately regretted her outburst. They were babies. She was yelling at babies.  
  
“Mi scusi, bellissimi bambini. God, I can’t believe I’m being such an arse,” she sighed, pressing a kiss into Mike’s hair and licking at the mashed peas that stuck to her lips as a result.  
  
“Arse, Mama?” repeated Jules.  
  
“Yeah, baby. I am a bit wound up. Your Zia Michael will be here in less than an hour and we haven’t seen each other in a year. We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”  
  
“No, Mama,” Mike added. That was pretty much her standard reply to everything.  
  
“I need help getting that stick out of your arse, Francesca Nicole,” Erica called from the other room.  
  
Franky winced. The full name. She was in trouble. She welcomed the sound of the front door opening as Stella entered — fantastic distraction from the hell she was about to catch from her spouse.  
  
“Oi! Baby girls!” Stella approached the high chairs as both toddlers grinned and reached out for her.  
  
“Stella!” The twins exclaimed with delight. Although out of the almost-toddler mouths, it sounded more like ‘Tewa!’ After Franky, Stella was their favorite toy. But Jules was torn between the food and her auntie. The girl was a spectacular eater, and she grunted in frustration at Franky, who had paused with the spoon to kiss her own twin hello.  
  
Erica came from the bedroom in a fluffy bathrobe, greeting Stella with a hug and a kiss. “Thank god, Stel!” She took the baby food from Franky and handed it to her sister. She kissed each baby on the head and her sister-in-law again loudly on the mouth, then grabbed Franky by the hand. “You come with me,” she said sternly as she led her partner back to the master bedroom.  
  
Since Michael had called yesterday to arrange a visit, Franky had been a frazzled mess. Short tempered with all three of her girls. Fidgety. She’d barely slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning before finally getting up and going into the other room to read. And she defiantly refused to talk about her anxiety. Now they were out of time, so Erica was taking drastic measures.  
  
Once inside the bedroom, Erica closed the door and pushed Franky up against it, kissing her. Hard. Thrusting her tongue inside Franky’s mouth searching, demanding. She pulled loose the belt to her robe and pulled Franky’s hands inside.  
  
“Whoa, love. What are you doing? I mean,” Franky tried to keep her composure between heated kisses from her spouse. “We don’t really have time for this…”  
  
Erica walked them toward the bed still kissing her, turning Franky around and pushing her backward until she fell on top of the doona. “Yes, we do,” she said as she crawled on top of her. She waited there on hands and knees, watching Franky watching her. “Feel how wet I am for you.”  
  
“Jesus, Erica. Seriously. We can’t…” she paused, taking a deep, shaky breath as her fingers encountering the silky wetness she always craved. Hadn’t had nearly enough of lately. “She’ll be here in 45 minutes.”  
  
“Exactly,” Erica responded, guiding Franky’s fingers inside. “And I need you grounded and focused. On me. On us.” Erica wasn’t sure exactly how to make this point with her lover. Or what the point even was, except that her partner was very tense about her best mate returning to their lives. She had been a distracted, irritable mess over the past 24 hours. It was as if Michael deMedici had already arrived, intruded, was pulling Franky away from them. And Erica had decided she wasn’t going to play into that dynamic as she had in the past. No jealous, possessive reactions in front of deMedici. Franky wasn’t going to need to defend her this time. Erica was ready to take care of them both. “Fuck me,” she growled, grinding herself slowly against Franky’s hand. “Ummmmm….”  
  
This was what they both needed. Now. Making time for sex was challenging. But they both needed to feel the intensity of their sexual affinity, their unique carnal chemistry together at this moment. Ground themselves in their togetherness before they would be ready for whatever deMedici was bringing.  
  
“Shit,” Franky hissed as she felt her own body answering her lover’s call, her clit hardening just from touching Erica’s wetness. She watched Erica’s breasts sway, crotch grinding against the palm of her hand as she slowly moved her fingers in and out of her partner. “You’re so fucking ready. What have you been doing back here by yourself, love, while I slaved away feeding the crumbsnatchers?” She flipped them over so she could maneuver properly, and began thrusting with increasing force. “Look at me,” she  commanded.  
  
Erica’s eyes snapped open, her pupils dilated. She was already on the brink of orgasm and the eye contact heightened the sensation Franky’s fingers caused inside. “Touching myself. Thinking about you fucking me,” she whispered. “That’s so good, baby”.  
  
“Why are you so wound up?” Franky inquired calmly, despite her own state of arousal, as she began to rub her now-aching center against Erica’s hip.  
  
Erica chuckled as she wrapped one hand around the back of Franky’s neck, tugging firmly on her hair. _So you wanna play obtuse?_ “Same thing that has you wound up. Don’t make yourself come yet,” her breaths came faster. “I want you to come in my mouth.”  
  
“Jesus,” Franky hissed, very focused, slowing her own hips while increasing the pace and force of her busy hand. _Talking dirty. Pulling out the big guns. We are both gonna blow in about seven minutes._ She resisted the urge to bite the nipple inches from her lips. They didn’t really have time to get messy. She held Erica’s gaze, watching the impending explosion. _Okay, okay. You were right. I’m totally uptight about this. And you knew it. You are so fucking good, baby._ “You know there will never be anyone for me but you.”  
  
“Yes,” Erica breathed.  
  
“I’m yours. Always.” _You know it. I love you._  
  
“Yessssss.” Erica  was having trouble forming words now. “Ahhhhhhhh….”  
  
“Say it.” _Make me believe you own it, baby. Own me._  
  
“Uhhhhhh….” she was so close, her hips thrashing wildly against Franky’s hand. “Oh fuck, Franky. I’m coming…” her eyes closed.  
  
“Not until you say it, Erica.” Franky slowed her pace.  
  
Erica growled with frustration, circling Franky’s wrist with her own clutching fingers, urging the pace back to it’s former speed. Her eyes snapped open. As soon as she saw the emerald fire in Franky’s pupils, she exploded. “MINE!” she shouted, shuddering in Franky’s arms. “You’re mine. God,” she continued to shake, riding out the climax.  
  
_Yeeeessssssss!_ Franky continued to hold her her partner’s gaze even though she desperately wanted to grind out her own swiftly approaching orgasm on Erica’s hip. Seeing it there, feeling the intensity of the physical connection between them, tangibly tethered her soul to Erica’s. To their home. To their life together. And she knew Erica felt it too. She kissed her then, darting her tongue in and out of Erica’s mouth gently. Making her chase the kiss, until both Erica’s hands where in Franky’s hair fusing their mouths together firmly. Erica drank of her for several long minutes. Then in one smooth movement, pushed her hands into the back of Franky’s track pants, sliding them down toward her thighs as she turned them over. She moved down Franky’s body, swiftly stripping off the obstacle to her treat and settling herself between lean, muscular thighs.  
  
Franky put her hand in Erica’s hair, urging her on, desperate to feel her tongue inside. Craving the pull, the ongoing sense of oneness she had with her partner when they made love. “Come on.”  
  
“Mmmmmmine,” Erica hummed softly as she kissed the swollen folds, pushing her tongue between them, maintaining eye contact with Franky. She could feel Franky inside her still, as she drew her lover in deeper, plunging, sucking.  
  
“Fuck, Erica,” Franky immediately began arching herself against her partner’s mouth. She was rarely challenged to be turned on by her spouse. But when Erica was an aggressive instigator of their lovemaking, it lent an extra urgency to the sex. To their union. Franky was feeling desperate for an orgasm, as if they were new lovers, not three years in. Within a few short minutes she was nearing climax. “Fuck. Erica. I can’t…” Her fingers tightened in her lover’s hair.  
  
“Come for me, baby,” Erica murmured against Franky’s sex.  
  
Franky did. And in the blissful aftermath, for the few short minutes they had to hold one another before having to get into the shower, they relished the sense of home, family, and unity that no one, even the beguiling Michael deMedici, could ever tear asunder. Not anymore.  
  
******************************  
  
Michael unbuckled the straps holding her son in his carseat next to her, as the driver came around to open her door. He was just waking up from a nap and reached for her, smacking his lips.  
  
“I’m going to feed him first,” she said to the driver. “Why don’t you take a break? I’ll be about 15 minutes then I’ll go up. I’ll only be here an hour or so.”  
  
The driver nodded gently closed the car door, confining Michael and her son once again in the air-conditioned coolness of the back seat on a warm day.  
  
As she unbuttoned her blouse and settled Gianni against her breast, she focused on his face, breathing calmly even as her insides roiled at the upcoming reunion between herself, Franky and Erica. She was happy her son had awakened ready to eat. She needed a little more time to prepare herself emotionally.  
  
When the FemLaw board chair called a few weeks ago and asked her to consider returning to the organization in a lead role, something in her had leapt with joy at the prospect of being back in Sydney. Back with her mates. Back to dinners at Franky and Erica’s. Back to riding the bike with Stella.  
  
But she also knew she could never return to what she had before. She may have completely burned the bridge with Stella. And she had deliberately sought to hurt Franky with the way she had left. Michael was totally unclear as to how angry Franky still might be with her. She hadn’t had the courage to talk to Franky directly when she’d called, preferring the cool measured acceptance of Erica, with whom she had developed a strange but welcome closeness when she found out she was pregnant. When she finally resolved to let Franky go for good.  What reconciliation might look like, Michael had no idea. She had been a manipulative, disruptive dick of a host to Franky and Erica while they stayed with her and a super prick that last night at the club. She had behaved like a spoiled adolescent being deprived of her favorite toy.  
  
And that was exactly what Franky had told her, years ago, when she had made it clear that she was going to be in an exclusive relationship with Erica. The afternoon she had completely missed the only real chance she’d had with Franky. Instead of telling her how she felt, that she was in love with her, she’d assaulted her.  
  
_“I don’t know if I’m ready to stop having sex with you, Doyle,” Michael said, turning to face her lover in bed. They were naked, having just finished an extremely satisfying interlude. But their conversation had turned to Erica Pearson, and Michael had a bad feeling about where this was going. “Do you want to stop having sex with me? Be exclusive with Erica? Isn’t she still married?”_  
  
_“Yeah. But she said she’s leaving her husband.”_  
  
_“Answer the other question, Doyle.” This was bothering her. A lot. Her chest tightened at the prospect of no longer having access to this physical intimacy with her… mate. Wait, was Franky actually her girlfriend? Was Michael actually jealous?_  
  
_“It’s complicated, deMedici!”_  
  
_“Don’t fucking deflect. Just tell me the truth. You’re the only one I can fucking count on to be real with me!” Now she was feeling defensive. As fuck. Franky was dumping her? Seriously?_  
  
_Franky sighed. “I love having sex with you deMedici. You’re gorgeous. It’s good between us. It makes the long hours we spend together a lot more fun and interesting.”_  
  
_Michael sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She could feel the big, “BUT…” coming and it already hurt. She must be in love with Franky. What other reason could make her not want to face whatever Franky was going to say next? Why was she so wounded? Was it because Franky was in love with Erica, not her? Franky was going to be spending her time with Erica now, and not with Michael?_  
  
_“Dammit, deMedici.” Franky said from behind her as Michael put her back to her mate, desperately searching for the glacial Ice Queen persona. The cold, hard exterior that she and had spent her entire life perfecting thanks to her own mother’s constant emotional and psychological abuse. It seemed to have deserted her for the first time in her post-adolescent life. She reached for something — any other emotion than the anguished ache in her chest that was making it difficult to breathe._  
  
_Michael found her anger easily, neatly coiled at the front of her mind. Fury was a good, solid, constant companion. Ire at her mother for being jealous and despicable, at her brothers for their patronizing misogyny. Anger at everyone who tried to use her, take advantage of her. All the people who sucked up to the deMedici name. And fuck Franky Doyle. Michael didn’t need her either. Didn’t want her. She could find a hundred gorgeous associates to fuck if she wanted to. Michael stiffened, bristling with rage as Franky wrapped her arms around Michael’s shoulders from behind._  
  
_“Don’t do this. You are not in love with me. And you aren’t going to lose me. I told you. You’re one of my only mates.” She pushed Michael back down on the bed._  
  
_Michael’s glare was glacial as she shook herself free from Franky’s grasp and stood, making her way to the wardrobe. Minutes later she came out fully dressed and quickly descended the stairs to leave the loft, free herself from this trite drama. She was fully reveling in the rage now, feeling the beast, wanting an outlet. Needing a different kind of release. She mentally thumbed through her contacts, quickly deciding it was time for a long overdue meet with her dealer and a booty call. A lot of coke and a mindless fuck would definitely make this better. Make this feeling go away. And then a nice, long, swim._  
  
_She heard Franky coming down the stairs behind her, calling after her._  
  
_“Fuck. DeMedici!  I’m sorry. Michael, please.” She caught up to her just as she was reaching the front door. She got in front of her,  blocking the exit. “That was mean and I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry, deMedici.”_  
  
_Michael looked at her only briefly before her body sprung into action, doing the only thing she knew to do when wounded. Strike. She backhanded Franky across the face, splitting her lip. She hit her so hard that Franky sprawled onto her arse practically into the kitchen. Then she left._  
  
_Immediately regretting the action, but not knowing enough about herself or what healthy relationships looked like to return to the scene and try to fix things. Instead, she went to the closest luxury car dealer and wrote a check for a brand new, tricked out, Porsche 944 with Francesca Doyle’s name on the title. As she signed the check, she noticed a splotch of Franky's blood that had dried on the back of her hand._  
  
Michael had spent some time over the past year examining that moment again and again. Knowing that was when she should have realized that she was actually in love with Franky, and said it. She may have had a chance then, even if she'd just admitted it to herself. But she had been so out of her depth; never felt that way before, about anyone. Didn’t know what was happening. And by the time she did, it was too late. She had brutalized Franky, then showered her with gifts after the fact, belatedly trying to seduce her with genuine emotion. And Franky had stuck with her through it all, gently rebuffing her mate’s increasingly desperate and needy advances, while continuing to embrace and cultivate their deep friendship.  
  
Even Erica had come around after the Arrington thing, when Michael had taken a knife to the gut, saving Franky’s life. Again. The last time she had seen them in the hospital, Erica had expressed a sincere desire for Michael to come back to them. To both of them.

And at the time, Michael was unable to see beyond her own self-centered need to be the light of Franky's life. And for Franky to be hers.  
  
After a year away and the birth of her son, she had been able to reorient herself and her worldview. She finally understood what it meant to put someone else ahead of her own ego. The first sight of her precious little boy's face had devastated her with the knowledge that she would do anything to protect him, anything for him. And that whatever she had ever though she wanted or needed for herself would now come second -- or third or fourth -- to the health and happiness of her child.

And she was ready to step back into the circle of community she had experienced with Franky and Erica. She wanted her son to know that kind of unconditional love, and that it wasn't only coming from her. After FemLaw’s chair of the board of directors had called, she had gone in to talk it over the offer with her father. He had told her that he had already decided to return to Melbourne within the month. It was time for him to get back to the law firm, and he hoped that she and Gianni would consider returning as well. It was like the universe had conspired to get her back home. Without Gianni’s father in the picture, Michael’s own father was proving to be the male role model in her son’s life. She didn’t want to lose that connection for him. And she still hadn’t resolved to invite the boy’s father, business executive Hollis Denton Cavalli, into their lives.  
  
But all of this didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous as hell. Not a feeling she was terribly familiar with. She rarely had to worry about anyone else’s opinion or approval. But it mattered here. A lot. She wanted back inside the circle of family that she had experienced with Franky and Erica and Stella before. And she wasn’t at all sure they were going to let her back in, despite the encouraging conversation she’d had with Erica when she’d called from Rome to let them know she was returning.  
  
She had deliberately dialed Erica’s mobile from Rome weeks ago; and again yesterday. Not Franky’s. Erica seemed to understand, without any direct conversation, that she needed the intermediary space Erica provided. And she hadn’t received any terse or sarcastic texts or voicemails from Franky. And since Michael hadn’t talked to her, it could be that Franky was just over her completely and Erica was being diplomatic. It was one thing to be cordial and friendly. It was another thing entirely to be emotionally intimate and vulnerable the way they had been with each other before. And Michael deMedici, not accustomed to wanting or needing anything from anyone, desperately wanted this back with the Davidson-Doyles. It would kill her to be rejected by Franky. Again. But she pushed those dark thoughts away, resolved to never show the Ice Queen to these folks, who she wanted to call family, again.  
  
She looked down at Gianni who was wrapping up his lunch. He lifted his face away from her nipple and gave her that half smile that completely melted her heart. She quickly fastened her shirt and put the boy on her shoulder for a quick burping. Soon, Gianni let out a raucous belch and Michael laughed softly. If Erica and Franky didn’t want her around anymore, this little guy certainly would for the foreseeable future. She gathered him against her hip, kissed his cheek, shouldered the baby bag and headed for the lift.  
  
Time to face the music. And reach for the light.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
“I’m getting out of here,” Stella said, trying to put Michaela down on the play mat. The baby curled her tiny fists tightly into Stella’s sleeveless t-shirt, holding on for all she was worth. Erica had just hung up the hand-held, buzzing deMedici into the garage. “Not ready for this reunion.” The last she had seen the bazilionairess attorney, she had broken Stella’s heart. Although her night didn’t end so badly. She’d had incredible sex with a movie star.  
  
“Not sure Mike’s gonna let you go,” Franky winked at her. “You’re gonna have to put on your big girl pants and deal.”  
  
“No!” Michaela said, clinging to her auntie.  
  
Stella tried to dislodge Michaela’s hands, but the baby was fighting her. “Come on, Mike. I need to go!”  
  
“Nonononononono!” Michaela was very serious, on the verge tantrum. “Tay!” She hadn’t quite got the ’s’ sound down yet.  
  
“I can’t, baby,” Stella kissed her. “Zia has to go to work.” Zia was the Italian version of auntie. And technically, Zia wasn’t due at headquarters for her next shift until early tomorrow morning. But Stella was loathe to confront Michael deMedici and all the unresolved emotional baggage between them. At least for Stella. For all she knew, the other woman hadn’t given her another thought.  
  
“No! Mama!” Mike wasn't having it, and appealed to Franky for support.  
  
“Come on, Stel. This is guaranteed to be gut-wrenchingly awkward for everyone. You sure you want to miss it?” Franky continued to tidy up the play area, enlisting Jules in going around the room and picking up the toys strewn about. She had a zen-like calm about her, after the interlude with Erica. But she was anticipating an uncomfortable encounter. In the moment, though, she was teaching Jules to put the toys back in the toy box on the play mat. It felt like a game, so Jules was playing along. Mike watched, but still held onto Stella tightly.  
  
Erica emerged from the bedroom, her towel-dried hair a mass of damp elongated ringlets. Stella loved Erica’s curly hair and freshly clean make-up free skin, the natural look of her sister-in-law, and was completely baffled as to why she straightened her hair so often. Maybe because the curly mass made her look like a 20-year-old wild gypsy hippie, the exact opposite of the image Erica Davidson tended to want to project. But still, it gave her an even sexier edge than the polished professional look she usually sported.  
  
“Why don’t you go meet her at the elevator?” Erica said, going to the kitchen and pulling a bottle of wine and several wine glasses out. She also began putting together a small plate of fruit and cheese. And a bowl of dry cheerios to keep the girls busy if the grown-ups were going to be snacking. “Take the little terror with you. She’ll be a good distraction for you both.”  
  
Stella looked across the room at Erica, meeting her eye. Erica knew exactly what Stella was feeling. And was suggesting a very wise, mature solution to managing conflicting emotions and keeping her dignity intact. Michael was sure to be the pinnacle of Ice Queenliness. She’d likely never had strong feelings for her anyway, Stella surmised. And she needed to demonstrate to herself that she was over the gorgeous, devastating brunette. Having the opportunity to confront Michael without an audience — even the supportive one of Franky and Erica — was very appealing.  
  
“Wanna go with me to meet the Ice Queen at the lift?" Stella inquired of Michaela. She shook her head yes.  
  
“Good on ya!” Both Franky and Erica said in unison, as Stella slipped out the front door leaving it slightly ajar.  
  
*****************************  
  
Michael took several deep breaths as the lift approached the tenth floor. She’d been here a hundred times, but it felt like the first. Four doors down on the left side of the corridor. No stalling. The lift dinged and she strode confidently out into the hallway.  
  
Almost mowing down Franky and a tiny bundle of hair, eyes and wiggly limbs. Michael brought herself up short, stopping her stride abruptly. Jade orbs met hers. Open, wounded, captivating green eyes. Stella.  
  
Stella’s heart hurt. Michael was even more beautiful, if that was even possible. No Ice Queen, though. She had a bit of weight on, not so sharp around the edges. The slight softness made her infinitely more appealing, sensual in Jennifer Lopez kind of way, rather than the razor-like dangerous beauty of Grace Jones, as Michael had previously appeared. But Stella steeled herself, taking a step back blinking and looking down at Michaela. She had no desire to get caught in that violet haze again.  
  
“Mike, this is your Zia Michael,” she said to the baby, lifting her eyes again to deMedici.This time her guard was up.  
  
“No!” Michaela was confused about the name, which sounded a lot like her own. “Baby?” she inquired, pointing at Gianni, who sat up alert in his mother’s arms, looking from Stella’s face to Michaela’s, then back again.  
  
Michael was completely gobsmacked. Stella was the last person she’d thought about seeing today. She had been entirely focused on preparing for Franky and Erica and their little girls. Yet here was clearly one of them. With Stella. Stella, who’s heart she had stomped into the dance floor barely a year ago. Her own heart broke with an onslaught of regret. Stella was a gem. Honest, loyal, infinitely sexy. Independent. Funny. The ideal partner, actually. And she had treated her so badly at the end. “Stella D,” she said, softly.  
  
“Who’s the lovely boy?” Stella asked, her voice slightly trembling.  
  
“Gianni. Questa ‘e la tua zia Stella, bambino. E bambina Micheala. Come stai bella bambina?” Michael greeted the baby girl.  
  
“Bene! Ciao!” responded Michaela jubilantly, reaching for Michael. She understood the Italian, but hadn’t heard it from anyone but her mama. And she had no stranger danger whatsoever, due to the exposure to all of her aunts, uncles, cousins, and everyone else in the extended Davidson family network. To her, Michael deMedici was potentially a fun new big person toy for her to play with.  
  
Her hands being full of baby and baby bag, Michael leaned in to kiss Michaela’s outstretched fingers. But then backed up to make eye contact with Stella. “I’m so sorry, Stel. I was horrible to you. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t regretted what I did to you.”  
  
Stella smiled at her, despite all the hurt feelings swirling through her with the memory of how disrespected and dismissed she’d felt in those final moments at the club. “You were a proper arse,” she responded. “And I deserve better. But I’m over it.” She took a deep breath, hoping she actually was. “It’s good to see you, even though I still kind of want to knock you on your arse.”  
  
Michael allowed herself a quiet chuckle, relieved to not actually find herself on the business end of Stella’s fist. It was certainly warranted. “It’s good to see you too, Stella D.” She was surprised at the pure delight she felt being near Stella again after so many months. She would have reached out to touch her if her arms weren’t full of baby and baby stuff. “Want to trade?” She leaned toward Stella with Gianni, who promptly buried his face in Michael’s neck, holding onto her tightly. “Well, maybe a bit later. He’s only got Italian. And hasn’t been around very many people. Seems he’s feeling a bit shy.”  
  
“Ciao!” Michaela exclaimed again, waving excitedly at Michael, wiggling to get down and reaching for Michael at the same time. “Tewa! Go!”  
  
Stella chuckled. “Yes. We better get the terrorist back inside and cut her loose before she blows a gasket.” She began moving back down the corridor toward her sister’s flat, bouncing Mike on her hip and tickling her belly. She laughed hysterically.  
  
Michael laughed too. “She’s a happy girl.” She took long strides to catch up with Stella, who seemed to be trying to escape from her. Which was probably true. “How are things at Tactical Response? How is Vincent?” Michael inquired after Stella’s boss.  
  
“Yeah, she is. They both are fantastic little girls. And TRT is… I still love it. Vincent is Vincent. I’ll need to go pretty soon.” Stella was quite sure she’d already had enough of Michael deMedici for the time being. She needed some time to absorb the fact that the woman was back in their lives. And off limits as far as Stella was concerned. She was glad she’d brought her bike over. It was definitely a moment to take the long way home. And the weather was gorgeous for it. She kicked open the door with her foot and put Mike down on the floor, then turned to relieve Michael of the baby bag. The Luis fucking Vuitton baby bag. She rolled her eyes and closed the door behind them.  
  
Michael entered the flat fully ready for an onslaught of hostility or at least defensiveness. But what she noticed first was the small person leaning against Franky’s knees, staring at her. Intensely. The big blue eyes soulful and curious at the same time. The girls weren’t precisely identical, but Michael wasn’t entirely sure yet what the difference was yet. What was clear, however, was that they were mini versions of Erica. The little girl smiled shyly at her. Completely. Gorgeously. Adorable.  
  
Michael’s heart melted with the pure preciousness of the twin babies, Michaela sitting close to her feet, staring up at her and Gianni. She tried to steel herself against what she was sure were still overly hormonal responses to normal things. Like the onslaught of emotion that hit her seeing Franky for the first time in nearly a year. And meeting best mate’s adorable twin baby girls. It was all she could do to not burst into tears.  
  
Mike scrambled over to her sister and pulled herself up on the other side of her mama’s legs. Franky sat very still on the lounge, staring at deMedici, who stared at her. “See?!?” Mike pointed excitedly at Michael and Gianni. She scrambled over to Erica, who was coming out of the kitchen. “Up, Mommy!” She demanded.  
  
“Michael deMedici,” Erica said smoothly. “It’s been far too long. And you look amazing.” She approached her, stepping in the line of sight between her partner and Michael, then boldly kissed her on the cheek. “Who is this beautiful little man?”  
  
Michael pulled Erica in by the waist, holding her as tightly as she possible could with the baby in her arms, and kissed Erica’s forehead. “This is Gianni. God it’s good to see you,” she said, surprised at her own candor, as she handed Gianni off to Erica.  _And thank you for interrupting that awkwardness._ “He doesn’t have any English yet. Gianni,” she said to her son, “Questa ‘e la tua zia Erica.” She pointed toward the lounge where Franky was standing up, “e zia Franky.”  
  
Franky finally stood and stopped just short of Michael, next to Erica. “DeMedici,” she said, quietly.  
  
“Doyle,” Michael responded. When Franky’s million watt grin appeared, Michael let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.  
  
“I missed you, arsehole,” Franky said, reaching out to high five Gianni. She dared not touch Michael, and prayed that Michael didn't touch her. She wanted the firm boundaries in place. Michael would have to earn back the privilege of casual  _friendly_ intimacy with Franky.  
  
“Me too,” Michael responded, wrapping her arms around herself though what she really wanted to do was wrap them around Franky.  
  
“Arseho, mama?” Of course it was Mike. 

Thankfully, Michael seemed to be of the same mind. “Jeez, Mike! No! Don’t say that!” She picked up her bad baby girl and faced Gianni. “Why don’t you show Johnny some of your toys?” She turned to look for Giuliana, who had remained standing by the couch, curiously quiet.  
  
Michael’s eyebrow went up. “Don’t you dare, Doyle,” she mock-growled at the English-ization of her son’s name. Relief flooding from every pore on her body. It was just like old times. And it wasn’t. Michael was jittery, but Erica seemed preternaturally calm, cooing at Gianni who flirted shamelessly, smiling widely at Erica’s kisses. And Franky was very focused on the children. Not Michael.  
  
“Arseho Mama no! Gianni!” Michaela pointed to her new friend as she reacted to the reprimand. But also, true to form, Mike inadvertently called out her mama by enunciating the boy’s name correctly. She wiggled in Franky’s arms, jonesing to get close to the new baby boy, and to go get some toys to show him all at the same time. And to put some distance between herself and Franky. She knew from the tone that she was in trouble. Again. “Down Mama!”  
  
Stella scooped Mike from Franky, kissing her neck; then scooped up Giuliana, tickling and kissing her too. After a few seconds of wild laughing for both girls, she deposited them on the play mat. “Gotta go, ladies. See you around, Michael.”  
  
_Chickenshit_ , Franky thought but didn’t say. “Ring me later, Stel,” she called after her sister, who slipped out the door without another word. "Why don't you put him down on the mat, with the girls, Erica?"  
  
Erica wasn’t ready to give him up. He was sweet smelling, and the half-smile was devastating. As were the violet eyes. But Michaela was bouncing up and down at her feet, reaching, demanding access to the new friend while Jules waited nonchalantly on the mat, starting to pull toys out of the box. “Is it ok to put him down, Michael? The girls won’t hurt him.”  
  
“We hope,” Franky interjected. “Gotta keep an eye on the terrorist, though.”  
  
Michael laughed. 'Terrorist' seemed to be a strong moniker for a baby, but Michaela certainly had a lot of wild energy. “Its fine. He needs to get used to being around kids his age.” So far Gianni didn’t seemed too put out. He was flirting shamelessly with Erica, grinning toothlessly at her, playing with her hair, putting it in his mouth.  
  
Erica gently put Gianni down next to Giuliana and Michaela as Michael went to sit down near all three babies. Giuliana looked curiously from Michael to Gianni and back.  
  
“Jules, that’s your cugino Gianni,” this time Franky enunciated correctly. “And your zia Michael.” The baby gave her a confused look. “I know,” Franky continued. “It sounds a lot like Michaela or Mike. Michaela is your sister. But this is Zia Michael. Capice?”  
  
“No Mama!” Mike chimed in.  
  
“Kay,” Jules responded, smiling coyly at Michael.  
  
“Glass of wine?”  
  
“Yes!” “Definitely” Both Franky and Michael spoke at the same time.  
  
Jules was fascinated by Michael, captured by the violet eyes. She finally stepped onto her lap and stared at her face intently while Michael held her hands helping her balance. She leaned in close, touching Michael’s lips, then her nose, then putting her face very close and looking into Michael’s eyes.  
  
It was all Michael could do not to burst out laughing. Then the little girl cocked her head to one side and smiled Erica’s smile. “Jesus, Erica. Could they look any more like you?” Michael said, projecting her voice across to kitchen.  
  
Apparently satisfied with her inspection, Jules turned around and sat down in Michael’s lap, making herself comfortable, lying back against Michael’s chest. Mike brought Jules and Michael a toy. She seemed very keen on sharing this afternoon,. She had handed several toys to Gianni earlier. When he stopped taking them, being thoroughly entranced with a pink rubber elephant which he was now chewing and slobbering over, she had started piling toys around him. He was sitting inside a stack of toys across his lap.  
  
But now that Mike had Jules’ attention, she moved across the room at high speed with a rattle ring, hiding it behind the couch. “Joos!” she called to her sister. This was their game. Mike would hide things, Jules would find them and throw them into the middle of the room. They started chatting with each other as Jules took a couple of wobbly steps, then went down on all fours after Michaela. Gianni watched them, still chewing the elephant, completely enthralled with the girls. They went back and forth, including Gianni in their game seeming to consult him as to which toy should be the next hidden. And instead of throwing the found toys in the middle, Jules brought them back to the mat and offered them to Gianni.  
  
Erica approached Michael bearing a plate of snacks and sat down next to her, placing the plate between them on the floor. Franky came with two glasses of wine, handing one to Michael as she sat down behind Erica, so that Erica was virtually in her lap. They all watched the babies for several minutes.  
  
Finally Franky turned to look at Michael. “So what have you been up to, deMedici? And when do you start back at the office?”  
  
Michael kept her gaze on the children. Franky and Erica were sitting very close, but Michael felt their togetherness more than she had ever before. She wondered if she was the cause of it, here. Now. The new hard boundary was strangely both sad and comforting to Michael. It wasn’t as if she didn’t still have deep feelings for Franky. She was just more at peace with the finality of them being unresolved. But the sense of being truly boxed out, unable to ruffle Erica even slightly, felt like a loss.  
  
“I start back next Monday. And I pretty much loafed for the past year. Worked with my father a bit. Played pregnant debutante. It was boring. But I needed it. I needed to sort things out. And figure out how to be a parent,” she said, sipping the wine. “My sister-in-law, Angela, came to visit a few times and stayed for several weeks.”  
  
“Ninni’s wife?” Franky asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Erica rolled her eyes at Franky’s obtuseness. Of all questions to follow up a vulnerable admission of needing to ‘sort things out…’ “So did you get things sorted, Michael?” Erica asked the question, peering over at the long-legged brunette.  
  
Michael met her gaze. “Yes, I did.”  
  
Franky took a sip of her wine and looked away at the children, profoundly uncomfortable with this part of the conversation. She started to get up but Erica held her still. Franky needed to hear this. Witness this. Understand and support the shift in their threesome dynamic.  
  
“That’s really good to hear. We missed you madly.”  
  
“Thank you,” Michael said softly. “I missed you too. But I needed time…” she looked down at her glass.  
  
“We’re glad you took some time. And that you came back to us.” Erica smiled. Franky cleared her throat and took another gulp of her wine as Erica continued. “And I’m a stay-at-home mom these days. Have you decided what to do with Gianni while you’re at the office? I would love to have some play dates with him. The girls seem to adore him.”  
  
Michael looked up at Erica again, surprised to hear that the super ambitious Davidson wasn’t running for city council by now. “Really? I can’t even imagine that, Erica. I brought Gianni’s nanny from Rome. But I’m also checking into the viability of putting a child care center on the ground floor of the building FemLaw is in. There is some vacant space there, just the right size for a small group of infants and toddlers. I’d really like for him to be close to me during the day. Not alone at the penthouse. And definitely we will have play dates. He's smitten.” It was true. Gianni was grinning like an idiot with the two little girls swirling around him.  
  
“Wow, Michael. That would be awesome! Eh, babe?” Franky said, kissing Erica’s jaw. Much easier to talk about the kids. “You could go back to work whenever you want, with the girls just downstairs from me. Right?”  
  
“Well, I could certainly get back to Hunter House much sooner than I’d planned. But you know I’m not staying home with them just because of the cost of daycare. I want to be with them at this age. So I’m not sure I want to put them in daycare, Franky.”  
  
“I know what you mean,” Michael said. “But I’m also going a bit stir crazy. I need to get back to work or I’m going to start jacking people in the street. I need grown-up conversations.”  
  
They continued talking amiably, Franky catching Michael up on what had been transpiring for FemLaw business over the past year. They shared silly stories about first-time parenting. Michael describing her days in Italy. At some point, Gianni began to fuss and Michael realized they’d been there for nearly two hours. His nappy was full. He hated the messy pants, so she went to the babies’ room to change him.  
  
It wasn’t until she felt a tiny pressure and tug at the bottom of her linen pants that she realized she had an audience. She looked down to see big soft blue eyes peering up at her. One of the twins was standing next to her, one hand gripping her pants and the other balancing on the side of the changing table. Michael smiled. “Which one are you?”  
  
“Joos,” Jules said. “Up?” She pulled on Michael’s pants.  
  
Michael finished with her son’s nappy and reached down to hold Giuliana’s hand instead. “How about we both go back in the other room, Bella Giuliana?” Jules grinned at her, showing several small teeth, happy to take the proffered hand and walk like a big girl. _In a few months Gianni will be doing this. And don’t wear out your welcome, deMedici. Go home now._  
  
As she entered the other room holding Jules’ hand, Erica had the now-empty plate in one hand and Mike on her other hip, heading for the kitchen.  
  
Franky stood up with the two empty wine glasses and followed Erica into the kitchen, calling back to Michael. “Erica’s brother and sister-in-law are coming for dinner tonight. You want to stay? You aren’t going to believe…”  
  
“Franky!” Erica admonished, taking the glasses and passing Michaela to her. “Michael’s just got back into the country. I’m sure she’s not interested in the internecine drama of the Davidson clan.”  
  
“Yeah right!" She approached Michael familiarly, forgetting the awkwardness that had been between them all afternoon. Michaela leaned over excitedly, finally getting up close and personal with both Michael and Gianni. “Pure craziness, deMedici. You have to meet this couple. They…” She reached out her free hand to grab Michael’s upper arm affectionately, pulling her in closer.  
  
“Franky!”  
  
Michael started at the familiar touch, but hid it well. “Thanks, but I really should get Gianni home. It’s been a very busy week and we’re still settling into the penthouse. Next time though."  
  
Franky squatted down to get hold of Jules, who was still holding Michael’s hand. “Definitely next time.” Franky smiled at her with genuine affection, again taking Michael off guard. “Alright, munchkins. Ciao alla Zia Michael e il cugino Gianni. Ciao ciao, Giuliana, Michaela.”  
  
Michael put her hand to her mouth and blew a kiss at the Doyle girls. Gianni mimicked her gesture.  
  
“Oh my god. That is adorable, Michael,” Erica laughed. “Come on girls. You can do that too. Kisses for Auntie and cousin.”  
  
Soon everyone was blowing kisses at one another as Michael and Gianni made their way to the door. There was, finally, an awkward moment where Erica embraced their mate and mini-mate; and Franky held onto Jules and Mike like protective buffers from physical contact with Michael, who grinned wryly as she stepped into the corridor.  
  
Then turned suddenly. “I have an idea, Doyle. Don’t say anything now, just think about it. We have all next week to discuss it before I start full time.”  
  
Franky looked intrigued. “Okay…”  
  
“Let’s co-direct FemLaw, instead of me being the big cheese. I’ll handle external business, you handle internal stuff.  But we have the same title, same power.”  
  
Both Franky and Erica lifted one eyebrow. “Interesting,” Erica contributed. On the face of it, Erica liked this idea a lot — the shared power. Franky not being under Michael deMedici.  
  
“Lunch Tuesday?” deMedici asked.  
  
“Sure,” Franky replied. Michaela began to wiggle and Franky set her down in the doorway. Giuliana stayed put, still mugging the blowing of kisses as their guests retreated down the hallway toward the lift.

Michael looked back over her shoulder as the lift doors open, and winked. Franky winked back. They could both see the light at the end of the tunnel.


	18. The Whisper that Calls

“The fuck!?!” Franky exclaimed, staring at the blank space on her bulletin board in the executive office she now shared with Michael deMedici at FemLaw. She couldn’t fathom what had happened to the sketch that had been there yesterday.  
  
Six months earlier, the lanky, covergirl-beautiful but hard-edged brunette had re-entered Franky and Erica’s lives as their mate and Franky’s co-director at the social service legal aid agency. As had Christina, the troubled teen from Erica’s volunteer work at the group home for adolescent girls.  
  
As well as running the agency with Franky, Michael started a daycare center on the ground floor of the FemLaw building so that her toddler son was close during the long work days. Gianni deMedici was nearly a year old. Franky and Erica’s girls were fifteen months and also attended the daycare downstairs three days per week, while Erica started volunteering again at Hunter House.  
  
“I thought it odd that you would take it down,” Michael said, sipping from an espresso, her third of the morning. She had brought a serious habit — and a very high end machine — back from her year of retreat in Rome.  
  
“I didn’t take it down. Which means someone else did. But why? It doesn’t make any sense.”  
  
Franky’s thoughts immediately went to her daughters downstairs as she continued to puzzle angrily over the missing sketch. A sketch that Christina had created, a nearly perfect copy of a photo of all of them — Franky, Erica, Michael, Michaela, Gianni, Giuliana and Christina.  
  
When Erica started back to working at Hunter, Franky made a concerted effort to spend some regular quality time with Christina. And it had paid off in spades. The young woman really opened up to Franky about her abusive mother. Franky, too, shared painful memories of her own violence-riddled childhood. Talking with Christina had resulted in the exorcism of some of Franky’s demons, too. Erica reported that Christina was much more focused and stable at the home since spending time with her new mentor, and was much less a target of the other girls. In fact, several of them were in awe of the teen’s now openly shared artistic skills and jealous of her relationship with Franky. Christina had learned to stand up for herself, and started to believe that there truly was some sort of decent future ahead for her. And she showed an aptitude for writing computer code. Who knew?  
  
Michael’s spidey senses kicked in, raising the hair on the back of her neck. _Why would someone take that sketch? Who was roaming around in their office after hours? Was anything else missing? Maybe we should re-run backgrounds on the newest staff…_ She moved from her chair to crouch next to their desks, looking under them both. Then she checked the garbage cans and recycling bins, which were empty. The cleaning crew would have cleared them the night before. “Very strange,” she said quietly, not giving voice to her other thought. Which was that Franky had once again attracted some freak stalker insane person who was going to do stupid things and force Michael to kill them. “It’s not here anywhere.” She stood up and looked over at Franky. “We should look to make sure nothing else is missing.” She began to open and close drawers, rifling through them.  
  
Franky focused on her co-director. “Don’t go all Nikita just yet, deMedici,” she said, referring to the mercenary character and movie _La Femme Nikita_. “Maybe it just fell off the wall and was ‘cleaned up’ by the night crew,” she continued, not believing it herself. The sketch had been pinned up to the wall. The tack was still there in the bulletin board where it should have been. Her thoughts immediately went to her daughters and Michael’s son downstairs in the daycare center. She stood up suddenly, agitated. “I’m going to freshen up my coffee.”  
  
She stepped out into the main part of the office where more than 10 desks, some in cubicles, were grouped in the middle. Scanning the faces there, she caught the eye of their newest staffer, Bren Jackson, the receptionist. Bren looked quickly away from Franky. She was a tad creepy from Franky’s perspective; shifty, furtive. Rarely making eye contact with anyone. Not exactly the open, friendly and welcoming disposition that FemLaw needed at the front desk. She had a history of drug abuse, petty theft and prostitution. Had her kids taken by social services. And had turned her life around recently. Exactly the type of woman FemLaw was committed to helping.  
  
They had done a thorough background check on Brenda Jackson and there was no reason not to hire her, so they did. But something still didn’t sit right with Franky about that woman. She felt her skin prickle as Michael approached her and leaned in.  
  
“Leave her,” deMedici whispered close to Franky’s ear. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She flinches when you look at her. Classic abuse victim. Just give her some time.” She resisted the urge to rest her hand at the small of Franky’s back. Just for comfort. She itched to do it — Franky was obviously as disturbed by the missing sketch as she was. But their physical relationship remained strained.  
  
Franky moved away from Michael’s breath against her ear, suppressing an urge to shudder; from the creepiness of Bren or the proximity to deMedici, she wasn’t sure. She went to the kitchenette to load up the coffee machine, make herself a flat white. Michael followed her.  
  
“It’s probably nothing,” Michael said, leaning one hip against the counter near her mate. “Don’t worry. Like you said, probably fell off the wall and got picked by the cleaning crew.” She didn’t really believe that though. It was an incredibly detailed sketch done by a clearly talented artist. Anyone in their right mind finding something like that on the floor would have put it on the nearest desk for the owner to rediscover.  
  
“I know,” Franky said. “I’m going down to look in on my girls.” She had left them barely a half an hour before when Erica had dropped them off at the daycare center and then Franky had come upstairs to start her work day. She wanted to put her hands on them. Make sure they were right. Her mind quickly skimmed through memories of the life-threatening experiences of the past few years: the gun at her head, her kidnapping, the assault on Erica. She suddenly felt like they were all too exposed. If someone did have ill intent toward Franky, what was to prevent them from doing something to her kids downstairs? Or Erica out there, by herself?  
  
Michael grabbed her arm. “Stop it. Stay away from the rabbit hole. Nothing has happened since the Arringtons, has it?”  
  
Franky shook her head in the negative.  
  
“Let’s just keep our eyes open, as per usual,” she glanced over at Brenda, who was taking a message, her eyes down on the message pad. “Besides. With your personal meathead avenger down there, you can’t possibly think anything is going to happen. Who’s even going to try to get past Boomer?”  
  
Franky couldn’t help but smile at that. It was true. Booms had come out on parole about the same time deMedici returned. After Franky left Wentworth and Boomer remained there with baby Josh and Doreen, Boomer had decided she wanted kids of her own. She turned out to be quite good with munchkins. Even if it was partially because her intellect wasn’t much more advanced than a five year old’s. Franky had been more than pleased to recommend Boomer for a staff aid position at the daycare center, feeling fortunate to be able to have one of her dearest mates near again. And over the moon when deMedici agreed to take Boomer on and to mandate self-defense training for the entire day-care staff. Of course, Stella was helping them with that.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” she smiled, gently pulling her arm from Michael’s grasp. “I’m still going down for a minute, though.”  
  
“Kiss Gianni for me,” Michael winked, pleased that in the moment, Franky had allowed the physical contact. As she sat back down at her desk, her thoughts turned to Stella. She’d seen her former girlfriend several times over the last few weeks at the self-defense classes. She hoped that the seemingly extra, ‘hands on’ personal attention Stel had been giving her in class was an opening. Instead of the cold shoulder she’d expected, Michael found Stella to be her usual friendly, goofy self in teaching the class that Michael had been attending with the day care staff. Even though she had her own personal security team, Michael didn’t use them often. She wanted a less sheltered, less secluded, less lonely life for Gianni. So being able to physically defend herself and her son was a good idea. The extra attention she was getting from Stella was an unexpected bonus.  
  
But was Stella willing to give Michael another chance? Was Michael even ready or wanting to be in a relationship? _Is she even single?_ Michael mused, with chagrin. She smiled bitterly to herself as she remembered that everyone else’s life did not actually revolve around hers. She picked up the phone to dial Stella, ask her over for dinner. Then though better of it. Probably should talk to Erica first. Oddly, while Michael and Franky still cautiously circled one another physically and emotionally, she and Erica had become very close. They saw each other nearly every day and talked about mommy things over the phone several times a week. Gianni loved being with Michaela and Giuliana, who seemed equally enthralled, so there were frequent play dates as well as the day care time together.  
  
When she finally did dial a number, it was to Frisco, her personal private investigator. She gave him Brenda Jackson’s name and told him she wanted a full dossier ASAP. Even though the standard new-staff background checks were extremely thorough, Frisco didn’t handle them. An employment agency that specialized in placing ex-offenders did. But Frisco often found things most people didn’t. Which is why Michael kept him on retainer.  
  
After ending the call, she mentally crossed her fingers that everything with the jittery new receptionist was as it appeared. And she focused on her dockets for the day.  
  
********************************************  
  
“Fucking hell! That takes balls!” Stella hissed, trying to keep her voice low enough that the twins didn’t hear her cursing. They repeated everything. She and Erica sat at the kitchen table drinking wine, waiting for Franky to get home. Stella had agreed to babysit while Erica and Franky went to dinner with in-laws. Ash and Elle, to be precise.  
  
“I know!” Erica exclaimed back. She had just filled Stella in on the gayness and hypocrisy of her brother and sister-in-law. “They told Franky they would save the girls by taking them to church. Fucking losers. I’m so angry I could stab them in the eye.”  
  
Stella tried not to laugh at the image. Whenever Erica was really angry, which was generally only when someone flirted with or criticized Franky, some sort of stabbing instrument — usually a fork — and an eyeball were in imminent danger. At least in the world according to Erica. And everyone knew she wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Or maybe you all could, like, triple date. You and Franks, Ash and his boyfriend, Elle and her girlfriend…” She did laugh out loud at that.  
  
Erica’s eyebrows went up. “Hey, Stel. That might not be a bad idea. I mean, that kind of ‘arrangement’ might have worked in the ’50’s. But can they really get away with that as a lifestyle in the 21st century? If anything, their kids are going to know something’s up sooner than later. Unless they actually aren’t dating anymore.” Ash and Elle’s eldest daughter was eight. They had been married for ten years. “But if Franky saw them out at the clubs they were dating outside the marriage less than five years ago.”  
  
“They’ve got kids older than five, right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ewwww,” Stella scrunched up her nose. She was a pretty non judgmental person in general, but since Mike and Jules had come into her life, she found herself rethinking some of her more free-spirited behaviors. She didn’t want anything she did to have a negative impact on those precious girls. Staying closeted and dating outside your supposedly committed relationship seemed a non-starter these days. Just stupid. Kids were generally sharp as hell and learned about the world and how to relate to it based on the experiences with the adults in their lives. So were Elle and Ash’s children learning how to have fake, inauthentic relationships? Thank god Franky and Erica were so solid. “Maybe you should save their kids. They won’t know a real relationship if it bites them in the arse.  
  
“Right?” Erica said, pondering that for a moment. Her anger diffusing. She hadn’t really thought past the betrayal of herself and Franky. But Elle and Ash’s duplicitousness must be confusing the hell out of those kids. “Well, thank you so much for sitting with the girls while we meet them for dinner. Try to talk through some of this stuff. At the very least, they need to understand we aren’t putting up with it.”  
  
“Speaking of betrayal,” Stella took a sip of her wine, glanced over at the girls, then began to inspect her fingernails. “What do you think of Michael since she came back? You don’t seem so uptight about her anymore.”  
  
Erica focused on Stella. “She has changed. A lot. Gianni has made her see that maybe she isn’t the absolute center of the universe.” She waited for Stella’s response, recognizing the nervous gesture she shared with her own twin. When she didn’t look up from her fingernails, Erica covered the scrutinized hand with her own. “Why?” she asked, seeking eye contact.  
  
Stella did look up, her eyes guarded. “Just wondering. I’ve been teaching the self defense class.” Erica nodded. “She comes. Every week.”  
  
“Really?” Erica’s hand still covered Stella’s.  
  
She opened her fist and interlaced their fingers. Unlike Franky, Stella wasn’t squeamish about asking for emotional support or comfort when she needed it. Especially with Franky and Erica. She met Erica’s concerned gaze. “I can’t keep my hands off her. I go around helping everyone, touching them when I need to. To help them get the right position. But I do it with her a lot more than with anyone else.”  
  
Erica nodded encouragingly.  
  
“And whenever I need a partner for demonstration, I always choose her. I told the class she’s the ideal practice assailant because she’s tall and in great physical condition. But it’s because I want to touch her.”  
  
“Oh, Stella,” Erica said softly. “You’re still in love with her.”  
  
Stella fought back the tears she felt coming. “I don’t know. I guess. How stupid is that? I mean, she ditched me for a one-nighter.”  
  
Erica stood up and pulled Stella into her arms. “There’s nothing stupid about being in love with someone. And I think she cared more about you than even she knew.” She pulled back and caught a tear from Stella’s cheek with her thumb. “She’s asked me about you, you know. She’s quite sure you’d drop kick her into next week if she asked you out.”  
  
“I probably would. What did you say?”  
  
“I told her to talk to you. And to give you some room to be angry. It wasn’t fair on any of us the way she just disappeared.”  
  
Stella disengaged from Erica and went back to her wine. “I think I ‘d prefer to just stay away from her. If she’d stop parading that body in front of me in tights and sports bras.” She took a gulp from the glass. “She’s still fucking hot as fuck. And she flirts. And it gets to me. Every fucking time.” 

“I thought you’d sworn off women. How many more classes are you going to give?”  
  
“I have. Four more. We can talk about the next level if they want to. But we can get the basics wrapped up in another month.” Stella sighed. “She’s not ‘women.’”  
  
“You could ask her not to come.”  
  
“I don’t want her not to come. I like seeing her. I like her flirting with me. And I hate her flirting with me. She just drives me nuts. And I guess it’s going to be hard to avoid her if she’s so close to you two.” Stella sighed heavily. “I don’t know what to do.”  
  
Erica thought about her own path with Franky. And about her warning to Michael not to mess Stella about. And Michael’s personal growth over the year she’d been away. The depth, maturity and authenticity she had brought back with her. “She’s changed, Stel. A lot. And I think everyone deserves a second chance. Hell. None of us would be here together right now if Franky hadn’t given me one.”  
  
“Franky owns you, Erica,” Stella grinned at her. “And you her. I’m so far away from that with Michael.” The smile faded. “I don’t know that I can trust her again. Or if I ever even did. We never even slept together. Did you know that?”  
  
Erica shook her head, puzzled. Stella was the most sexually active woman she had ever met. How had she not ended up having tons of sex with the statuesque brunette? “How is that even possible?”  
  
Just then the front door opened and a tiny bundle of energy burst through. “Mike! Juice!” Gianni yelled as he hurled himself toward the play mat where his favorite mates were. Jules’ name had evolved in the mouths of the babies, from Michaela’s early mispronunciation of ‘Joos’.  
  
Franky and Michael deMedici followed close on his heels. “Hey Gorgeous,” Franky beamed at her spouse.  
  
Erica quickly made her way across the living room and into Franky’s arms, kissing her soundly. “Hello Love. Michael?”  
  
“Franky invited me for dinner,” she said, lighting up as she spotted Stella.  
  
“We’re going out. With my brother and sister-in-law. You’re welcome to join…” Erica looked pointedly at Franky. “Stel — you okay alone with the three stooges?”  
  
“Ahhh. Fu… sh… shoot. I totally spaced that. Sorry, deMedici. You’re welcome to come witness a white-bread suburban repression drama, if you like.”  
  
Michael smiled, still looking at Stella, who stared back at her wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights. “Sounds lovely, but I’m going to pass. Fancy a bite with me, Stella D? We could order take out. Have it delivered.”  
  
Franky groaned as Michael leaned in to kiss Erica’s cheek in greeting. “Lay off my girl, DeMedici. You had your chance. You blew it.”  
  
“Says the queen of second chances,” Erica responded. “They are big girls. I’m sure they can figure this out. We need to go.” She looked back over at Stella as she reached for her handbag on the side table near the front door. ‘’Right Stel?”  
  
Stella nodded. “We’re big girls alright.” She crossed her arms defensively, her gaze hardening as she watched Michael.  
  
Michael’s cocky grin dimmed. “I don’t mean to impose. But I’m not sure I could get Gianni out of here, at least until around bed time. He’ll pitch an enormous fit if I drag him away from the loves of his life.” She was now frowning. She had been openly flirting with Stella during self-defense class, and thought she was making progress. Stella had responded, she thought, touching her much more than was necessary during the sessions. But there was a chill in the air now. This was an entirely new aspect of Stella she hadn’t experienced before. Even when she’d first come back from Rome and Stella had surprised her in the corridor outside the flat, she had been warm and friendly. And vulnerable. This Stella was closed. Slightly hostile.  
  
Franky watched the interplay between her sister and her co-director. Stella was in hard-edged cop mode. _Good on ya, she thought. Don’t take any more shit. Don’t let her break your heart again. At least take her down a couple of notches first._ “I’m sure you could leave Gianni. Even over night. We can bring him in the morning. No sweat. Right Erica?”  
  
Erica nodded. She looked at Stella who nodded as well. “We need to go.” She pulled Franky out the door.  
  
Leaving Michael and Stella alone with the children, who played together raucously on the floor.  
  
“I’m guessing I should go…” Michael said uncertainly. She was uncomfortable and not used to the sensation. Particularly when it came to the mating game. She was quite aggressive when she wanted someone, and usually got what she wanted. Except that’s not quite how things had worked with Stella. She had come on hard with the green-eyed tactical response officer, but never really got past second base with the younger woman. Now Stella Dagostino was staring her down.  
  
She had thought Stella was warming up to her from the responses to her flirting in class. Evi-damn-dently she’d been wrong.  
  
“I’m sure you’re free to do anything you like,” Stella said quietly. “I would like to know what the hell it is you want from me.”  
  
“Want from you?” Michael repeated, weakly. She was on foreign ground, pursuing someone who maybe didn’t want her. Who would likely reject her. _What am I now, a masochist? What was I thinking? She doesn’t want me anymore. Get over it, deMedici. Walk away._ “I’m sorry, Stella. I guess I made some assumptions. Clearly I was wrong.” She backed herself up against the door, reaching behind her for the handle to let herself out.  
  
“If you were after an easy fuck, then yes. You assumed wrong. What is it you do want want, deMedici?”  
  
“Easy fuck!” Michaela said from the floor.  
  
Stella rolled her eyes as she watched Michael try not to laugh. “Jesus, Mike.” The kid was a menace. Out of all of the things that had been said over the past several minutes, this was the one thing she wanted to repeat. She was a ringer for trouble. Like Franky. “Come here.” Michaela bounced up from the floor and trotted over to her Zia, who picked her up and looked her in the eye. “You can’t say that. What you just said.”  
  
“Easy f…?” Mike started and Stella quickly clamped her hand over the baby’s mouth.  
  
“That. Don’t say that again. Mama will be very, very tossed if she hears you say that. I shouldn’t have said it either. Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Michaela said brightly. Zia wasn’t scary like Mama was sometimes. Especially when Mama was tossed.  
  
Stella kissed her and put her down, then refocused on Michael. It was hard to maintain her chilly demeanor after that interlude. “Come over here so the little troublemaker doesn’t hear everything, will you?”  
  
Michael crossed the room slowly and sat down across from Stella at the kitchen table.  
  
“Look,” Stella started. “I know I’ve been a bit more hands on with you in class than I should have. Maybe I’m sending a mixed signal. I’ll try not to do that. But why are you flirting with me? We’ve been down this road.” She looked down at her fingernails, opting to chew on one as she continued. “I don’t fancy having my heart dashed to bits again, honestly.”  
  
_But I think I’m in love with you. I think I have been for awhile. And I’m an idiot. And I’m so sorry I hurt you._ Michael decided to wait to disclose that first part. Might be too much information at this point. “I was an arse to you, and I’m truly sorry. For so many things. I don’t really deserve a second chance. But I want one. I want the chance to do things right with you, Stella D,” she said, softly. Saying it out loud caused a sharp pain in her chest and she looked away from the intense face across from her, instead watching the children playing.  
  
She focused on the pain, trying to identify what it was. Over the time she’d been away, she had learned that only by examining the painful places, being honest with herself about why they happened, was the only way she could move through them. Move beyond them. Otherwise they became hard nodules of resentment and anger that flared up at the slightest provocation. And she didn’t want that with her son. She’d spent most of her time away unpacking baggage from her childhood, leading up to Franky’s rejection and her reaction to it.  
  
The pain in her chest now was regret. Regret and fear. Regret over how she had totally missed the amazing chemistry between herself and Stella. How much she actually cared about Stella, was willing to wait for her sexually. Regret about not admitting to herself how much that frightened her, even while she channeled her frustration into spinning out in anger and humiliation over being rejected by Doyle. And fear that she had screwed the pooch again, missing the opportunity to share something special, something uniquely hers, with Stella Dagostino. Just like she’d missed it with Franky.  
  
She forced herself to meet Stella’s gaze. She was open again, watching Michael curiously. Michael scrunched her brow to keep the tears at bay. And smiled bitterly. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will. But this isn’t about sex, Stella. I was a childish idiot with you before. But I don’t think I’m that person anymore.” She looked up at the ceiling, willing herself the fortitude to say what she knew Stella deserved to hear. “I’m not promising I won’t make any mistakes.” She looked into Stella’s eyes again. “But I do know that I lo…” she halted mid sentence. She couldn’t make herself say it. Not yet. “I love being with you. And it’s not only about getting into your knickers.”  
  
Stella smiled at her, finally. “But you do want to get into my knickers.”  
  
“Definitely,” Michael smiled back.  
  
Stella wanted to kick herself for giving in so easily. But she was still whipped. Michael was hot. And fun. And she was still in love with her. Maybe she did deserve a second chance. “Why don’t we just start with dinner.”  
  
The flood of relief Michael felt at those words almost made her dizzy. She did feel overwhelmed with emotion. She needed some space to gather herself. Standing up, she replied, “I don’t want you to feel obligated. If you don’t mind Gianni staying, I think I’ll head home. But first I’d like to ask you out on a proper date.” Stella’s eyebrow arched high. “Will you have dinner with me Friday night, Stella D?”  
  
Stella’s grin nearly blinded Michael. The pain in her chest eased. “I will, deMedici. But you’re buying.”  
  
“Definitely.”  
  
“I’ll pick you up on my bike. 8:00?”  
  
“Oh yeah.” Michael grinned wolfishly, and left.  
  
****************************  
  
“The fuck!” Franky said for the second time in two days as she entered her office early in the morning. They had all awakened earlier in order to have time to get three babies ready for the day.  
  
The creepy receptionist was standing in Franky and Michael’s office, holding a piece of paper. Her face was black and blue — clearly she’d been beaten. Brenda thrust the paper at Franky. “I can’t work here anymore. But I just wanted to know if she’s safe. My baby. My Christina. Is she right? You have her?”  
  
Franky looked down at the sketch that had gone missing the day before. “You’re her mother?” Franky’s expression was anger and disbelief. “Did you come here on purpose? To hurt her? What’s the matter with you?” Brenda shook her head defensively and started backing out of the office, toward the door which Franky had locked behind her. “How did you get in here anyway?” The front door had been locked when Franky came in, but Brenda was already in her office.  
  
“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know until I saw that sketch. I knew the style and then I saw her in it. Does she live with you? How is she? That’s my baby girl,” she rambled. “I was a bad mum. They took her away. I’m sorry. Is she happy?”  
  
Franky tried to dial back her aggression and anger. Something had happened to the woman that was much more important than untangling the clusterfuck of Christina’s long lost mother suddenly showing up out of nowhere, employed at FemLaw. “What happened to you? Do you need a doctor?”  
  
“No. No. I’ll go. Tell her I…” She stopped in her tracks at a loud banging on the glass door behind her.  
  
Franky looked over Brenda’s shoulder. There was a humongous, very angry red-faced bald man hammering on the door. With a gun. _FUCK!_ She didn’t even have time to say it out loud before the gun fired and the door shattered into thousands of shards. Franky dove for Brenda, crashing them both onto the floor. Then she was hauled bodily off of Bren and flung half way back toward her own office door.  
  
“Fuckin’ stupid cunt!” The man roared.  
  
Franky landed hard but rolled neatly out of it into a standing, albeit slightly crouched position. The man had his boot on Brenda’s neck and he spit on her. She lay still as death on the ground.  
  
“Bren, are you hurt?” Franky asked quietly.  
  
The man focused on Franky then. “Fuckin’ aye she’s hurt!” he yelled at Franky, training the gun on her. “Gonna be fuckin’ dead if she doesn’t fuckin’ come with me right now. Iddn that right, Bren?” He was slurring.  
  
_Jesus, he’s drunk!_ Michael appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. Franky shook her head slightly. _Do not come in here. Call the police. Please don’t come in here, Michael._  
  
Michael was immediately angry. More like incensed. Who was this idiot? How dare he threaten her people? What the actual fuck? She took a step toward the man’s back, ready to tackle him.  
  
“Put the gun down. Please,” Franky said quietly, again shaking her head at Michael. They made eye contact. _The kids. Call triple zero._  
  
In that one sentence directed toward the hulking man, Franky had given Michael the mother lode of information that she quickly realized she had to use to get herself out of danger and try to make sure no one else stumbled across that scene. In spite of every muscle in her body telling her to take the guy down, she backed quietly away from the scene and ran toward the stairs, toward the day care, dialing 0-0-0 on her mobile.


	19. Your Sweet Flowing Love

“I’ll put it down when I wanna put it down. You shut it,” he growled, keeping his maniacal glare on Franky. “Get up, you cunty bitch!” he directed at Bren who was still trapped under his boot. Of course she couldn’t move with him standing on her neck.  
  
“Hey,” Franky tried to sound soothing while a million thoughts raced through her head. The primary one being Erica was going to kill her if she got shot. “I’m Franky. And you are…?”  
  
“Noneya bidness,” he spat at her, “ya bitchy cunt.  I told ya to get up!” This time he kicked Bren in the ribs. Hard. She rolled away from him and tried to stand but was clearly in a lot of pain from that boot to the chest.  
  
“Whoa, whoa…” Franky soothed, approaching Bren slowly, her hands up in a show of surrender.  
  
She heard the gun cock and stopped dead in her tracks, making eye contact with the perpetrator. His eyes were completely bloodshot and bleary. And unhinged. _Uh oh. Reasoning with a lunatic. Plenty of experience there._ She looked down at the ground, feigning a submissive attitude. “Okay. Whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.”  
  
“Get the fuck back where ya was,” he said. “And don’t move again!”  
  
“Okay,” Franky backed up to her original position. “How can I help you get what you want, man?” She was just trying to stall, now.  
  
“I don need ya fuckin’ ‘elp, aye! I got my girl right ‘ere. Get up, Bren!”  
  
“She’s hurt. Let me get some bandages for her. Her face…”  
  
Brenda finally pulled herself up to her feet using the aid of a nearby desk, which she leaned against heavily. “Okay, Dag,” she said. “I’m coming. Coming with you. Please don’t shoot this lady. I got a good job here. She’s good to me. They pay me.”  
  
Dag kept the gun trained on Franky but looked at Brenda now. His gaze softened slightly, turning to confusion. “What the fuck happened to yer face, Bren? Who did that to ya? I’ll kill ‘em. Who hurtcha? You!” He turned to Franky again. “Find her some bandages. Help m’wife.”  
  
_Great. Blackout drunk. Maybe psycho._ She backed slowly toward the kitchenette where the first aid kit was stored. She didn’t want to turn her back on this guy, but at some point she would have to to secure the kit. “Dag, maybe you could put the gun down and bring Brenda here. I can get her cleaned up.”  
  
He had approached Brenda, grabbing her arm. Just as he laid the gun down on the desk, Tactical Response arrived, bursting into the room yelling at the perpetrator to get away from the gun. And all hell broke loose again as Dag wrapped an arm around Brenda’s neck, nearly choking her, using her as a body shield while re-pointing his gun at Franky.  
  
Josh and Shannon were in the room at about 1:00 and 11:00 relative to the perp, so no one would get caught in crossfire should they need to use their weapons, which were now trained on Dag. Shannon began to talk him down.  
  
“No more cunty bitches!” Dag roared. “Get the fuck out. Or I’ll kill this one right ‘ere!” He fired a shot wide to the left of Franky.  
  
“Lawson!” Josh called. Lawson came in and traded places with Shannon. Lawson began to talk the man down. He was clearly very drunk, and seemed barely able to stand on his own two feet. But highly volatile.  
  
“Don’t shoot him,” Bren finally spoke out amidst the melee. “He’ll drop any minute now. Out cold. Just give him a second…”  
  
“Shut up!” He roared at Bren, smacking her in the head with the gun. She went down.  
  
This provided enough of a distraction for Stella to slip into the room and make her way behind the assailant, out of his field of vision, toward Franky. She stepped in front of her twin just as Dag looked up at her. “Did you get the bandages? She’s…” He tried to focus, but was seeing two of Franky. He was very confused. “What the…”  
  
And as Bren had predicted, suddenly Dag fell to the ground passed out cold. The gun fell from his hand, discharging loudly, striking Stella’s body armor square in the middle of her chest. This drove her into Franky, her back colliding with Franky’s front with high velocity. They both fell in a tangle of arms and limbs to the floor.  
  
********************************  
  
Erica was riveted to the television. The reporter was live outside the FemLaw office where a gunman had Franky “Trouble Magnet” Davidson-Doyle and one other woman held hostage. The reporter detailed the history of Franky’s encounters with crazy violent men: the first hostage situation, her kidnapping, the hit and run by the stalker. Erica took a number of deep breaths and swallowed repeatedly, trying not to throw up as the girls continued to play next to her. They were completely oblivious to the drama unfolding on the screen behind them.  
  
Nic was on her way over. She was the one who had called Erica to tell her to turn on the local news.  
  
A sharp ‘bang’ erupted in the background. “Wait… Shots have been fired.” The camera angle widened and the reporter turned to face the FemLaw building behind her.  
  
Erica ran to the bathroom, skidding in front of the toilet only microseconds before everything she’d eaten that day exited her mouth violently. _Oh god. Oh god._ She felt tiny hands patting her back, her hair.  
  
“Mommy? S’matter, Mommy? You got a owie?”  
  
Erica couldn’t see. She couldn’t think. She continued to projectile vomit into the toilet. She heard Michaela crying, then Nic’s voice soothing her and three voices moving away from her and her mess. Once her stomach had emptied, she forced herself to stand up, rinse her mouth and splash cold water on her face. _It wasn’t her. Franky’s got nine lives. She’s always ok. She’s fine. I need to go find her…_  
  
The land line rang, then her mobile. She rushed into the kitchen — the caller id said it was a local news station. She ran to the lounge where Nic had answered her mobile. The girls pushed themselves off the couch with Nic and each latched onto one of Erica’s legs. They didn’t really understand what was happening except that their mommy was very upset. Nic handed her the mobile. She collapsed next to Nic and the girls scrambled up into her lap.  
  
“Michael. Please…”  
  
“She’s fine. They’re coming down the stairs now.” Gianni was crying very close to Michael.  
  
“Are you right?” Erica could breathe, now. “Michael?”  
  
“I’m fine. Hold on.”  
  
There was a bit of scuffling and then, “Erica?”  
  
Erica half sobbed, half laughed into the phone. “What am I going to do with you?” She looked up at the television to see Franky exiting the building, her head bent toward the mobile, escorted by Shannon who had hold of her upper arm. Kerry and Michael were right behind them. Gianni was sobbing in Michael’s arms. She muted the television and blew a kiss at Nic, who had enticed the girls into the kitchen with pieces of fruit. The press spotted Franky and rushed her.  
  
“You’re going to let me fuck you senseless as soon as I get home.” Franky turned to the nearest camera, grinned into it and winked. For Erica. Then Kerry and Michael and several uniformed officers were pushing the press back. Michael was impressive, beating back reporters and paparazzi and juggling Gianni as Shannon ushered Franky to an ambulance. “Are you ok? Jules and Mike? Can you come to hospital?”  
  
“Yes. Nic is here. She can stay with the girls.” Erica was still riveted to the television as Stella exited the building, leaning heavily on Lawson. He was practically carrying her. “What happened to Stella?”  
  
“She took a bullet to the chest armor.” Erica watched the camera follow Stella to the ambulance Franky was sitting in. The medics helped Stella up into the back, and she sat on a stretcher next to Franky. “Gotta go, love.” She chucked the mobile out the back to Michael, who caught it one handed. Then they were peeling off Stella’s body armor as the doors closed and the ambo sped away.  
  
Erica turned off the television. “Michael? Are you coming to hospital?”  
  
“I want to. I wasn’t sure if I should. I need to get Gianni home.”  
  
“It would be weird if you weren’t there. And I think Stella would like it. If you are there for her.” Erica grabbed her keys and handbag, waving to Nic. “Why don’t I pick you up on the way? I’m headed out now."  
  
*******************************************  
  
Michael lay in the dark with Stella asleep in her arms, replaying the past several hours in her head. They had finally, finally, made love. After the hostage incident and despite Stella’s cracked ribs, the adrenalin high from the day had made Stella super frisky. And Michael wasn’t complaining. Stella had exhausted her. She wondered what sex with Stella would be like when she hadn’t been shot in the chest. The images of their lovemaking flashing through her mind made Michael smile rakishly and she stroked her lover’s hair, relishing the feel of their naked bodies together. At last.  
  
Earlier in afternoon, when she and Erica arrived at the hospital, Michael had been surprised at how things had turned out. How she had ended up in Stella’s tiny apartment, in Stella’s bed. It was not at all how she’d imagined their first time to be. She had thought to take Stella to a nice dinner, then invite her to spend the night at the penthouse. Prosecco and chocolate dipped strawberries in bed. Not gunshot wound to the chest and frantic, athletic sex to work off the adrenaline high. But such was life, it seemed, with the green-eyed twins. Never a dull moment.  
  
_Even though Franky seemed to have emerged from this adventure completely unscathed for a change, Michael could feel the fiercely protective, possessive energy flowing off Erica like heat as she was pulled by her hand into the reception at Royal Melbourne.’’_  
  
_“I’m here to see Franky Doyle,” Erica announced._  
  
_The young man at the front desk scanned his records. “We don’t have a Franky Doyle.”_  
  
_“Davidson-Doyle,” Erica corrected, irritably. “The hostage situation! A cop and an agency staff member where admitted here! Where are they?”_  
  
_“We have the cop. But who are you?”_  
  
_“I’m her partner! Stella Dagostino! Where is she?” Erica lied. She didn’t have time for this.The young man gave them a room number and Erica practically sprinted down the hallway pulling Michael with her._  
  
_They burst into the room where Franky sat in a chair next to Stella, who lay in the bed. Franky was saying something very quietly that made Stella chuckle._  
  
_“Ow!” She complained as they both turned to look at the newcomers. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”_  
  
_Franky stood as Erica hurtled into her arms, kissing her roughly, demandingly, deeply, as she simultaneously ran her hands over Franky’s body, checking for injury. Finding none. Franky was unscathed, not even a bruise._  
  
_“Sheesh! Get your own room!” Stella mock complained, winking at Michael._  
  
_Michael’s breath caught as she took in Stella’s pallor. And she could see dark purple bruising on Stella’s chest, peeking out from the front of her hospital gown._  
  
_Erica broke the kiss and approached the bed. She kissed Stella’s forehead. “How you going, Stel?”_  
  
_Stella pulled the front of her gown open and Erica gasped. “It’s a beauty, yeah?”  The bright blue and purple splotch square between her breasts was … awesome. “Waiting for x-ray results.”_  
  
_Franky circled Erica’s waist with her arm as Michael came up behind them. “Been there. She’s fine. Maybe a crack. But nothing to be done but rest, aye Stel? I’m sure it hurts worse than it looks.” She smiled at her sister, ruffling her hair._  
  
_“Oh god, Stella,” Erica exhaled. “Is there anything you need?”_  
  
_“Might crash with you for a couple of days. Just until I get the pain under control.”_  
  
_“I’ll stay with you,” Michael said. Stella’s eyes shifted to Michael’s face. “Or you can stay with me.”_  
  
_“Careful,” Franky warned. “She’s a pain in the arse sick-o. She will use you.” Stella stuck her tongue out. “And she’s a whinger.”_  
  
_“I don’t mind. You can whinge all you want,” Michael said, watching Stella._  
  
_“Great. On that note, we’ve got a lot of glad-you’re-alive sex to get to.”_  
  
_Erica slapped Franky across the belly. “Call if you need anything,” she said to Stella and Michael._  
  
_“I’ll check in with you tomorrow, Doyle,” Michael said, still focused on Stella._  
  
_Franky kissed Stella on the mouth cupping her face intimately as she pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed for several seconds. “I love you, Stel. I’m so glad you found me,” she said backing away._  
  
_“You too,” Stel replied seriously. Franky and Erica left the room._  
  
_Stella then reached out for Michael’s hand, her expression a little less cocky. Michael wondered what she was thinking. What had just transpired between the twins. What had really happened up in the office with the assailant? She sat gently on the bed as close to Stella as she dared. Michael blinked and a tear streaked down her face. She pressed her free hand to her eyes, wiping them. “God. Sorry. Don’t know where that came from.”_  
  
_Stella let loose Michael’s hand and reached up, tracing the path of the tear on her face with a finger. “You really do care about me,” she said, her cheeky grin fading._  
  
_“Of course I care about you.” Michael recaptured Stella’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “How are you feeling, really? You’re pale,” she stroked Stella’s face, then pushed the gown a little further apart. “Jesus. This looks wretched. What do you do if they’re cracked?” Michael tried not to notice the swell of Stella’s full breasts. Nipples barely covered by the gown. They were perfect breasts — she could almost feel the weight of them in her hands. And Stel’s stomach was washboard firm, even in repose. She crossed her legs against the uncomfortable swell of arousal at her center and pulled Stella’s gown closed, finally looking at her face again._  
  
_The broad cocky grin was back. Michael blushed, knowing she’d been caught cruising the patient._  
  
_“Nothing to do. Just rest until it stops hurting enough to do stuff. If it was lower I could wrap them to stabilize. But up there…” she shrugged, gingerly. “Soon as they give me some pain meds I can go. In fact, can you look, see if my shirt is there?”_  
  
_“In a minute,” Michael responded leaning over Stella, kissing her lightly on the lips. “How often do you get shot at?” She kissed her again, a bit more firmly._  
  
_“Not as often as Franks,” Stella said, curling her hand around the back of Michael’s neck. Pulling her in for more. “Is it a deal-breaker for you? Getting shot at?”_  
  
_“With your line of work, I guess it can’t be.” This time, Michael darted her tongue into Stella’s mouth, then pulled back, then darted again. Making Stella seek her out. Stella did, aggressively, and Michael finally gave into her own need to drink of Stella greedily._  
  
_After a few short minutes, Stella pushed her away, panting. She closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing. “Fucking fucks,” she huffed, pressing the call button next to her bed. “You know, after a high impact incident, I’m super horny.” She opened her eyes._  
  
_Michael still leaned over her, their lips almost touching. She hoped Stella was thinking what she was thinking. Even if the officer needed a couple of days to recuperate. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to…”_  
  
_“Soon as they give my my fucking meds,” she mashed the call button again impatiently, “I’ll be right as rain. Just so you’re clear.”_  
  
_Michael kissed her again quickly, feeling the confidence synchronicity brought. She was very sure they were on the same page. She was clear. For a change. She stood up to look for Stella’s clothes, tearing herself away from the carnal energy that had quickly arisen between them. “We’ve spent plenty of nights together in bed without having sex.”_  
  
_“Yeah, well that’s not going to be tonight.” Stella swung her legs over the edge of the hospital bed, groaning in pain as a nurse entered._  
  
_Michael turned around with Stella’s short-sleeved cotton undershirt and police-issue Tactical Response button down. “You seem to be a bit pale, Stel,” she said, bringing the clothing over. “Maybe you should think about rest.”_  
  
_“I can rest plenty. After we fuck. If you aren’t up for it, that’s cool. But don’t plan to stay, then.”_  
  
_The nurse had been about to hand Stella a small bottle of pills which, on the word ‘fuck,’ popped out of her hand and flew across the room, bouncing off the wall and rolling under the bed. She blushed and went down on her knees to look for it._  
  
_Michael met Stella’s eye. She was being deliberately provocative. And it was working.“I’m sure I’m up for whatever you think you can dish out after being shot in the chest, Stella D.”_  
  
_“Just so we’re clear.”_  
  
_“Perfectly.”_  
  
****************************  
  
Franky and Erica entered their flat to the happy sounds of Giuliana and Michaela chattering to one another. Two curly brown heads of hair and bright blue eyes peered at them from over the back of the lounge. They were standing on it and on Nic, their conversation stopping as they spotted their parents.  
  
“Mama!” Michaela exclaimed holding her arms up, reaching for Franky. Giuliana giggled and threw herself down on her back next to Nic.  
  
Franky hopped over the back of the couch, pulling Mike into her arms. “Ciao, bella,” she cooed, kissing her daughter. Jules flung herself at Franky and was deftly caught, earning a bevy of kisses as well. Franky felt a warmth like the summer sun explode in her chest as she inhaled the unique baby scent of her girls. “I’m so happy to see you.”  
  
The morning’s events kept flashing through her head. If Stel had had made her move even a few seconds later, Franky might not be sitting here right now. But for all anyone knew, she hadn’t been in much danger. Just at the end of the barrel of a madman’s gun for a couple of hours. Not a scratch on her. She looked up at Erica as she continued to hold her toddlers tightly.  
  
Erica looked haggard as she came around the couch and surveyed her sister, partner and daughters sprawled together. “Nic,” she said quietly. Seriously. “Can you stay another hour or so?”  
  
“Of course,” Nic said, looking worried. She turned to Franky, then back to Erica. “You guys okay?”  
  
“No.” “Yes.” Franky and Erica said simultaneously.  
  
“Okaaaay,” Nic responded, cautiously. “What can I do?”  
  
Erica reached out a hand to Franky. “Come with me, love. Now.”  
  
Franky wasn’t ready to give up the twins. And she didn’t recognize the steely blue eyes above her. “Give us a minute, Erica.”  
  
“Now,” Erica practically growled.  
  
Nic pulled the girls from Franky, tickling them to distract.  Franky stood up but didn’t take Erica’s hand. She was confused and a little worried. She headed toward the bedroom. “Just give us a few minutes,” she looked back over her shoulder at Nic. Nic nodded mutely.  
  
Franky opened up their bedroom door and followed Erica in. She closed the door behind them and was immediately grabbed by her spouse, who shoved her, hard, toward the bed.  
  
“Erica, honey,” she said warily as her calves hit the bed.  
  
Erica planted both hands on Franky’s chest and pushed her again. She fell clumsily on top of the bed.  
  
“Erica…”  
  
“Just let me have this,” Erica did growl now, pulling her dress over her head and dropping it on the floor. She pounced on top of Franky. Her kiss was bruising. She pinned Franky’s hands to the bed as she kissed down her neck, leaving marks.  
  
Franky arched under her, trying to flip them over, but Erica held her down. You’ve been holding out on me, Franky realized as she was unable to break Erica’s iron grip. “Erica…”  
  
“Shhh,” Erica slid one hand down her partner’s chest reaching the top of her slacks, unbuttoning them quickly and pushing her hand into Franky’s knickers.  
  
Franky gasped at the rough touch, and the realization that she was wet. “You’re being a very bad girl, Miss Davidson,” she said, trying to regain the upper hand. _What the fuck is going on with you?_ “I’m definitely going to have to spank you.” She wrapped one hand around the front of Erica’s neck.  
  
Erica slapped her hand away, feeling iron in her spine. “Not now. I need to have you.” She yanked Franky’s slacks and panties down to her knees and knelt there, pressing hard kisses to her mound, to the edges of Franky’s sex.  
  
Franky writhed, trying to wrap her head around the role reversal. _Erica as a top?_ Franky wasn’t at all clear that was going to work for her in the long term, but right now Erica held her down, kisses now surprisingly gentle against the top of her slit.  
  
“Please,” Erica moaned against her.  
  
And then Franky was lost in a haze of pleasure as Erica gently swiped her tongue along Franky’s nether lips, separating them. The adrenaline from the hostage situation had her on pins and needles — more so than she realized. She was ready to pop. Erica slid two fingers inside her lover.  
  
“Fuck!” Franky yelled, pressing herself against Erica’s tongue, seeking the sweet relief and nearly levitating as Erica’s lips encircled her clit. Barely a few strokes later and she was shuddering, coming hard against Erica’s mouth. Erica moaned as a profuse amount of Franky’s juices coated her hand.  
  
Even before Franky had completely finished her orgasm, Erica was upright on her knees, shoving her slick hand inside her own knickers, inside herself. Franky’s mouth fell open in astonishment as she watched Erica masturbating over her.  
  
She slid forward enough to be able to reach Erica’s hips, sliding her panties down so she could see Erica’s ministrations. “Oh shit,” she whispered. Watching Erica like this was definitely moving into Franky’s top five list of favorite things. It was hot. Edgy. And a little out of her comfort zone. But she was riveted to the fierceness with which Erica fucked herself.  
  
Scant minutes later, Erica was shaking and shouting through her own climax. She fell bonelessly on top of her partner, her hand still caught between her tightly clamped, shaking thighs. And then she began to cry.  
  
Franky held her tightly, confused and shaken to her core. Completely out of her depth. “Jesus, babe.” She continued to hold her partner until Erica was cried out. “Are you right?” The question seemed silly given what had transpired between them over the last 20 minutes. But she didn’t know what else to say.  
  
Erica took a long, shuddering breath. “God, Franky. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”  
  
“No, baby. Don’t apologize.” _But yeah. Sexy. But what the fuck._ “Just talk to me.”  
  
Erica stroked Franky’s hip. It was an obsessive petting, not soothing or gentle. “I don’t know.” She took a deep breath, knowing this was inadequate but completely at a loss as to what had just happened. Why she had felt so aggressive. “It’s Michael.”  
  
“What?” Franky caressed her face. “What are you saying?”  
  
“It’s Michael. You and Michael together. That’s when crazy shit happens.” Her frantic stroking slowed. She pushed herself up on one elbow, tears still streaming. “When you started working at deMedici Law. Then when she left, when you two weren’t together anymore, nothing happened.”  
  
Franky nodded. It was batshit theory, but technically true. “Okaaaay,” she said.  
  
“I know it sounds crazy.”  
  
“Hmmmm.”  
  
Erica started to pull herself out of Franky’s arms, but the younger woman held her partner still against her for several more minutes, while she thought about what had happened. “Hey love. Maybe we should make an appointment with Gidge together. A lot of stupid shit happens to me. To us. It would be odd if you weren’t having some sort of PTSD.”  
  
Erica sat up on her heels. “Maybe Bridget can recommend someone else. I’m afraid if I was alone with her I might stab her in the eye.” She smiled shakily.  
  
Franky chuckled and reached out for Erica’s hand, bringing it to her mouth. Kissing her fingers. “That would be bad.”  
  
Erica sniffed and pulled her hand away, going to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Franky appeared behind her as she looked up in the mirror. Erica stood upright, meeting Franky’s concerned gaze. “We need to let Nic go home.”  
  
“In a minute,” Franky said, approaching her partner and gently placing her hands on Erica’s shoulders, kissing the back of her neck. “Anything else going on?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Erica placed her hands over Franky’s on her shoulders. “You’ve been in danger before. And come out at the end of it in much worse shape. Not even a scratch on you this time. Is there?”  
  
Franky shook her head no. “He pointed a gun at me. He fired into the wall nowhere near me. Stel only took one in the vest on accident when he dropped the gun. It went off and hit her. No one shot at anyone.” She decided to leave out the part where Stella happened to arrive to stand in front of her when that gun went off. It could have been a very, very different and dark outcome if Stella’s human shield act had been even five seconds later. But it wasn’t. And Erica didn’t need to know that.  
  
“I puked. Like projectile puked when the reporter announced the gunshots,” she leaned back into Franky. “I was so fucking scared,” she whispered, turning around and pulling herself tightly against her partner. “I’m seriously thinking we need to move to the outback where there’s nothing but roos and koalas for kilometers. I don’t know how many more times I can do this, Franky.”  
  
Franky was now a more than a little worried and confused. _Would you leave me? Because of this craziness?_ “What does that mean, love?” she asked, hesitantly.  
  
“I don’t know, Franky. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Like my head is going to explode with worry and fear over something happening to you. Someone taking you away from me. From us,” she began to cry again. “I need… I need you to be safe and to come home every day. For the rest of our lives. I can’t…”  
  
“We need a weekend. Just you and me. Maybe your mum and da can keep the girls.”  
  
Erica quickly realized Franky was right. They needed time together. Alone. Exercise their kink, be in their unique affinity. She just needed to rebalance, and they weren’t able to get that time much with the two babies. A weekend away sounded like perfection. “Or Michael. Michael and Stella. They need the practice,” she sighed. “And I should probably talk to a professional.”  
  
Franky smiled and kissed her ear. “Yes to the professional. Stella and Michael may not be ready for co-parenting, Honey.”  
  
Erica kissed her again, sliding her tongue gently against Franky’s, putting all her love and the apology she knew she needed to express in it. “I agree we need some time. Definitely,” she murmured against Franky’s lips, pressing now soothing kisses to the bruises she’d left earlier. “God, Franky. I don’t know what got into me.”  
  
“We’ll figure it out. But let’s go release Nic. She’s probably toast after hearing us screaming like banshees.”  
  
Erica chuckled. “She needs to get out more.”  
  
“Probably,” Franky said. “But not like this. Let’s get cleaned up and dressed, and let her go.”  
  
Erica kissed her again, deeply. Lingering. Not really ready to get back to the world outside their bedroom. She finally pulled back. “Fine.”


	20. Crazy on You

Franky and Erica entered their flat alone for the first time since their anniversary nine months ago. It was Thursday afternoon. Franky had taken Friday off from work and the girls were happily in sleepover mode with Erica’s parents until Monday.  
  
Instead of pawing each other and stripping off clothes on their way to the bedroom, both women dropped their coats and handbags by the front door, wordlessly making their way to the lounge where they tumbled together. Erica lay in front of Franky who spooned her from behind. She reached for the remote and clicked on the television, then muted it.  
  
“What is it, love?” Franky kissed the back of her partner’s head.  
  
“We used to have sex immediately any time we had some alone time.” She turned in Franky’s arms meeting the tired jade irises with an unsure look of her own. “Are we okay?”  
  
Franky smiled and tucked a lock of blonde behind Erica’s ear. “Someone held me at gunpoint on Monday. Again. The girls have been frazzled because we’ve been in aftershock,” she pressed her palm to her spouse’s cheek, “and they feel it, even if they don’t know what’s going on. You had your first therapy session this morning after an official PTSD diagnosis on Wednesday. Plus you’ve been keeping up with your hours at Hunter. Maybe we’re just fucking knackered.”  
  
Erica smiled and pushed herself half on top of Franky, tucking her head under her lover’s chin. “Yeah.” She chuckled. “Probably. It was really good to talk to the the psychologist. Remind me to thank Bridget. I really like this woman.” She laughed again, then raised her head to make eye contact. “You know what I realized?” Franky shook her head. “I didn’t actually talk about this in session, per se,” she pulled Franky’s blouse out from her slacks and placed her hand against the firm warm belly, watching her hand move under the cloth. “But you and Michael do have amazing chemistry.”  
  
Franky closed her eyes with a pained expression, “Erica! Come on. I thought we were past this…”  
  
“Just listen…” she pleaded.  
  
Franky opened her eyes looking wary.  
  
Erica continued. “I talked a lot about my crazy idea that somehow Michael was the reason you get into so much trouble. But then I thought maybe it’s the two of you together. And then I realized that you and she do have incredible energy. But not like ours.”  
  
Franky’s eyebrow went up but her expression relaxed. A hint of a smile played across her lips. “Better not be like ours, aye?”  
  
Erica pinched the smooth skin under her fingers. “No. Definitely not like ours, you dork.” An image of Michael in bondage wear and cuffed to the hook flashed in her brain. It was completely outrageous. Michael was _so_ not a sub. But she would be hot as fuck in dominatrix gear. “No. You guys are like a tag team. Like Pinky and The Brain. Or Ren and Stimpy.”  
  
“Wait. Who’s the idiot, then?” Franky was smiling now.  
  
“Knock it off. Like Batman and Robin. Xena and Gabrielle.”  
  
“You know, the jury is still out on whether Xena and Gabrielle were getting it on…”  
  
“Stop provoking me!” Erica pinched her again and Franky trapped the hand against her belly. “I just want you to know that I’m okay with it. I’m glad you have someone — a mate — that you have adventures with. And someone who is very capable of having your back. She’s pretty fierce when she wants to be.”  
  
Franky’s mind flashed back to the Arrington nuttiness. When Michael sat straddled over that girl’s torso with a knife in her gut, choking the life out of her. “That she is,” Franky responded seriously. “She almost died for me.”  
  
Erica kissed her lightly. “I get that now. I think it finally hit home for me when she called Monday, in the middle of all that madness. She knew I would need to hear that you were okay. She took care of me because she was looking out for you. And she knew that’s what you would want.”  
  
Franky nodded at her.  
  
“I didn’t think about it too much after she went to Rome because we didn’t see her. Didn’t see her healing from the stab wound. Didn't see the pain she was in having a baby alone. Trying to reconcile her feelings for you. For Stella,” Erica continued. “And then we had two baby girls to think about.” She sighed heavily. “But then Monday, she was so… kind… to me. She didn’t even begin to try to wind me up. Not even teasing a little.”  
  
“She’s changed. And she seems to be serious about Stel this time.” Franky sighed as well. “I’m not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.”  
  
Erica laid her head back on Franky’s shoulder. “She has changed. We talk. A lot. Did you know that?”  
  
“I did notice that you two seem to be getting on much better. That you aren’t constantly plotting to stab her in the eye anymore,” Franky let her fingers play in Erica’s silky locks. She loved the feel of Erica’s hair against her fingers. “What do you talk about?”  
  
“Mostly mommy things. Baby milestones. Nursing drama. And... she’s been trying to figure out how to approach Stella for months.”  
  
“Hmmmm,” Franky was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She desperately wanted a nap. “Seems they figured that out. Haven’t heard a peep from either of them since Monday. You think they finally had the good sense to fuck each other’s brains out?”  
  
“I’m guessing yes. I don’t think you need to worry about Stella this time. Michael has grown. And Stella’s a big girl. And she’s nuts about Michael.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Are you going to sleep?”  
  
Franky tightened her arms around Erica. “I think so. You mind?”  
  
“No. Napping sounds like a fabulous idea.”  
  
“Are we getting old? Napping in the afternoon together?”  
  
Erica chuckled. “Maybe. At 28, you’re looking dead on at midlife crisis, love. How does it feel?”  
  
“As long as it’s with you.”  
  
Erica pushed herself up and planted a long deep kiss on Frank’s grinning mug. By the time she was finished, Franky was breathless.  
  
“God I love you, Miss Davidson.”  
  
“I love you too.” Erica made herself comfortable again half on top of her partner.  
  
After a few minutes, Franky said, “Thelma and Louise. Or Annie and Lillian in Bridesmaids.”  
  
“What?” Erica had her hand back under Franky’s shirt. She scratched gently between her breasts.  
  
“Me and Michael. You and I are Gabrielle and Xena. Or better yet, Corky and Violet. Definitely Corky and Violet.”  
  
They must have watched _Bound_ together about 20 times. “Definitely Corky and Violet,” Erica smiled.  
  
**************************  
  
Franky stood away from the bed trying to catch her breath, watching a rivulet of sweat make its way down from Erica’s neck across her collarbone; sliding between her breasts and finally dripping off her navel. She was arched, body bowed, hair hanging long behind her, falling free of her back and dripping skin. Her breath came in short pants.  
  
“Please, Mistress,” Erica begged, her voice ragged and low. “Please.”  
  
Franky was completely transfixed. She had started with the whip across Erica’s back, graduated to the flogger across her front, and spun the paddle around in her hand now. It was time to take care of that perfect butt. They’d been at it for nearly 45 minutes and Erica had only started to beg for release in the last few. It was all Franky could do not to give it to her, to draw her fingers across that heated flesh, flushed a tawny red with arousal. Bite those pebble-hard nipples. Strap on the biggest dildo and fuck her till she screamed.  
  
But Erica wasn’t ready yet. Franky always knew. And this was the longest session they’d had, by far, before getting to the fucking. They had had another brutal week, Franky being taken hostage again and Erica, finally, showing symptoms of PTSD. They were both seeing therapists. Franky was amazed and quite proud of her spouse for not running for the hills screaming years ago with the rate of drama and trauma Franky seemed to attract. Even though Erica had been accosted only once, Franky wasn’t at all sure she could have been as steady as her partner had been had it been Erica taken hostage, kidnapped and assaulted; stalked and run off the road. In fact, Franky was quite sure the projectile vomiting stage would have hit her long before her partner finally succumbed to the terror.  
  
And her lover wanted to be ridden hard today. Franky had delivered. Quite well, if she did say so herself.  
  
“Look at me.” Franky was decked out in her biker hat, leather bra and spike-heeled thigh high patent leather boots. And nothing else.  
  
Erica took a deep and shuddering breath. It was all she could do not to pop. If Franky touched her, she was going to explode. And she wanted it so badly. The whipping, the flogging had been _soooo gooood_. She was afraid she would come just from looking at her lover at this point. She furrowed her brow but kept her head back, eyes closed. “I need to come. I can’t…”  
  
“You come when I say you can come, Miss Davidson.” Franky circled the bed, picking up the whip again. She lashed it out and it popped very close to Erica’s ear, making her flinch. “Look at me. NOW!”  
  
The submissive slowly lifted her head, blinking open her eyes dreamily as if she’d been asleep for eons. She focused on her spouse’s face, then her gaze wandered hungrily down, stopping at the dark vee between Franky’s thighs. Her right arm, still attached to the left and cuffed at the wrist over the grappling hook secured to the ceiling, began to twitch. Her eyes wandered back up, finally meeting the green eyes of her lover, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her top lip curled into a half snarl.  
  
Franky gasped, dropping the whip on the floor. Erica’s eyes were feral. It was the younger woman, now, fighting to stay in control. This was the look she’d been waiting for. She stood on the bed in front of her lover, placing the point of her boot on Erica’s chin. She began to pant again. Franky drew that boot slowly down the middle of Erica’s body to the top of her slit. Erica whimpered. Franky knew that she could push that boot only one centimeter lower and Erica would have the beginning of the release she needed.  
  
Instead, Franky dropped to her knees but resisted the urge to pull Erica from the hook, lay her down and fuck her. Not yet. She went down on all fours so her head was eye level with her partner’s sex. She blew on it. Erica parted her knees and whimpered. Finally, Franky lay on her back and settled her head between those shapely thighs and opened her mouth.  
  
“Come for me, love,” she ordered, and flicked her knuckles across the painfully erect nub just beyond her tongue’s reach.  
  
Erica immediately lowered herself onto Franky’s mouth and within seconds was shuddering through an orgasm so powerful that Franky could hear the chains rattling against the hook over their heads. A gush of liquid splashed the younger woman’s mouth and cheeks; then a second time as she thrust her tongue in and out of her lover, as Erica continued to howl through a second orgasm.  
  
At that point, Franky did move from between her lover’s legs and took her in her arms, kissing her deeply. Erica wrapped her legs around her spouse’s waist as Franky continued to take her mouth and release her hands, laying them both down across the bed.  
  
Franky was wearing a strap-on but Erica was working her hips wildly, pressing her hot center against her lover’s skin, desperate for more release. Her need so carnal, so unfiltered, so honest that Franky knew she wanted to feel this, wanted to be inside Erica next time she climaxed; not stimulate her with a toy.  
  
Erica took Franky’s mouth ravenously, and Franky fucked her hard with her fingers. Wondering briefly if she was going to lose the hand in the process. And didn't care. She could hardly tell where her partner began and she ended, they were fused so seamlessly together, their bodies in such perfect synchronicity. Soon her partner began to climax again, repeatedly, arching up against Franky’s chest, screaming with ecstasy, until she finally fell back against the doona, limp and semi-conscious.  
  
Franky collapsed on top of her spouse, spent herself. Marveling lazily at how perfect it was to be here in bed, Erica twitching with aftershocks from their lovemaking underneath her. She lay there, listening to her partner breathe, reveling in the feel of their skin together, hot and sticky. Perfection.  
  
After about 20 minutes Franky was sure her lover was asleep. Until she felt fingers tangle in her hair, lips press against her head.  
  
“Baby,” she said.  
  
“Yes, love,” Franky answered, lifting her head just enough to kiss the swell of breast underneath her cheek.  
  
“Marry me.”  
  
Franky snorted, then laughed, then rolled onto her back pulling Erica on top of her. “I’ll have to check with my wife. But I have a feeling she’s not into polygamy.”  
  
“No. She’s not,” Erica snuggled impossibly closer to Franky. Then stroked her hip languorously. “What about you, baby? I still need to take care of you,” she yawned exaggeratedly. But truth be told she was done for at least a couple hours.  
  
“I know, right?” Franky teased. “Sometimes you’re just ‘me me me’ Erica. You go too far.” It was Erica’s turn to snort. As if Franky didn’t get as much out of their play as Erica did. _As if!_ “No worries, love. It’s Thursday night. We have until Monday morning for you to pleasure me.” She felt the smile against her skin.  
  
“So I do Mistress,” Erica nipped the skin below her mouth and then licked it to soothe. “Good thing I already have some ideas for what you might like.”  
  
“Good thing.”  
  
***********************************  
  
Three months later, Erica had other things on her mind.  
  
Actually, her mind was a fractured mess at the moment. She was returning from a doctor’s appointment Franky didn’t know about. A doctor’s appointment which confirmed what she had feared after missing three periods: she was pregnant.  
  
The girls were at daycare. Erica should have been on her way to pick them up, but instead she called and told the staff she would be another couple of hours. She pulled into the carpark below the condo. They would need to look for a house now. She didn’t want to have another baby in the flat ten stories up. There hadn’t been any mishaps — nothing remotely scary. But she was clear they needed more space if they were having another child. They could move their office into their bedroom and put the baby in that room; or even put all three kids in one room at this point. They were still tiny. But not for long.  
  
And she wanted to talk about having Stella move in with them in their new space. She and Michael had been solidly together for three months; but she didn’t see Stel settling down into domesticity anytime soon. She wanted Stel with them. She liked the idea of having a cop in the house, someone else keeping an up close eye on her danger-mouse spouse. Besides: there was no reason for her sister-in-law to be paying rent; unless she just really wanted to have her own flat. Maybe they could find something with a detached mother-in-law unit. Or a workshop that could be converted into a bachelor pad.  
  
And Erica was dissembling. What she really needed to figure out was how the fuck to talk to Franky about… this. _FuckFuckFuck._  
  
She leaned her head against the door, taking a deep breath before entering the flat. How in the hell was she going to explain this? She had never, ever even thought of being with anyone else once Franky came into her life sexually. She definitely hadn’t been with anyone. Only Franky. So how was this possible? And what was Franky going to say? How would she react? Would she believe her? Why would she? Why wouldn’t she? She couldn’t think Erica would even consider touching anyone else. Could she? But how else to explain a baby?  
  
She entered the flat dropping her things on the floor and kicked off her pumps. Closing her eyes she leaned against the door on the inside this time.  
  
“Hey Gorgeous!”  
  
Erica’s eyes snapped opened wide. Franky was standing near the lounge, looking at her lasciviously.  
  
“Where are the girls?”  
  
“What are you doing here?” Erica was nervous, nearly frantic. She hadn’t anticipated Franky being here. She shouldn’t be here. She should be at work. _I need a little more time to think!_ “Why are you here?” she asked, testily.  
  
Franky frowned. “I missed you. Light caseload today. What’s wrong?” Franky approached her slowly.  
  
Erica shrank back against the door, avoiding her partner’s touch. “Oh god.”  
  
Franky reached out for her and Erica dodged, heading for the lounge. “Sit down, Franky.”  
  
Franky made her way slowly back to the lounge and sat down next to her spouse. “You’re scaring me.”  
  
Erica curled up in the corner, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You probably want a drink for this.” Hedging wasn’t going to do any good at all. Unless she had an abortion, Franky was going to notice the changes in her body in a few weeks. Besides. This was not something she wanted to keep from Franky.  
  
But she was deathly afraid of rousing Franky’s ire — she’d been so good since her last blow up. She’d even had fewer and fewer sessions with Gidge… Bridget. Dr. Westfall. All of the things Erica didn’t know about her pregnancy felt like gasoline that she was about to spread across her partner’s carefully controlled burn area.  
  
“What the fuck!? Just tell me, dammit!” Franky’s eyes blazed. Erica closed hers.  
  
“I had a medical appointment this afternoon.”  
  
Franky was immediately alarmed. “What’s wrong? Erica, what’s going on? Are you ill? What is it?” The younger spouse was working herself into a panic, but she placed a gentle hand on Erica’s bare foot, pulling her leg out straight. Trying to open up the defensive posture. “Please, baby…”  
  
Erica turned her head away. Then back, opening her eyes to meet Franky’s anxious gaze. “I’m pregnant.”  
  
Franky’s hand jerked back and she stood up. “What?” Her eyes narrowed.  
  
Erica shrank into herself. _Gas on the fire._ “I”m pregnant, Franky.” _Please don’t burn. Not you. Not me. Please._  
  
Franky turned her back to Erica. She was silent for several minutes.  
  
Finally Erica stood up too, approaching her lover but not touching. She could feel the waves of anger, rage, roiling off her partner’s skin. “Franky…”  
  
“Who, Erica? Who is the father?” Franky kept her back to her spouse.  
  
She took several steps back toward the lounge. “You can’t believe I would ever…”  
  
Franky spun around, her expression anguished, her eyes blazing. “I don’t! I don’t understand! Who the fuck am I going to have to kill!?”  
  
Erica put her hand over her mouth, the other clutched in her hair. She could see the pain, rage, fear rippling across Franky’s face. She felt nauseous. “No one. Please believe me. I was just at the doctor. I asked for a genetic test. I have no idea how this happened. But I’m going to find out. You have to believe I never, ever cheated on you. Ever. You are the only one for me. Please believe that.”  
  
Franky exhaled loudly, then yelled. “ARRRRRRRRRGH!” Then took a deep breath, knowing she was scaring her lover. She opened her arms, beckoning Erica into them. “I do believe you. We’re too fucking good together, yeah?” Her eyes welled with tears that didn’t fall as Erica clung to her.  
  
“Perfect, Franky. There’s no one else for me. Ever. I love you so much.”  
  
“Me too you, love.” Then she kissed her partner. Deeply. Possessively, before pulling back, her hands framing Erica’s face as she gently put their foreheads together. “Did something happen that you didn’t want to tell me about?”  
  
“No! No! Absolutely not. I couldn’t… I could never keep anything from you. Especially something like that. I love you. I can’t stand the thought of not being with you.”  
  
“Don’t think it. Not gonna happen.” She kissed her partner again while tamping down the aggressive anger that raged inside. _Had Erica been raped? Was she repressing it? How the fuck did this happen? When? Who’s baby was she carrying?_  
  
“Technology is fast these days. They should have some results for us tomorrow.”  
  
“Okay. Okay,” Franky said softly, pressing kisses against Erica’s temple. “We should go together tomorrow. Yeah?”  
  
“Please. I need you there.”  
  
“I wish you had told me sooner.”  
  
“I was so… confused. I don’t understand how this happened. I didn’t really believe it at first. But I missed three periods. And the doctor said I’m definitely 10-12 weeks in. I didn’t know what to say to you.”  
  
“That’s about the time we had that crazy sex after the FemLaw hostage thing.” _Well, crazy relative to what we usually do._  
  
“Yes. And… I am at a complete loss. But the science doesn’t lie. There’s a baby in here.”  
  
“Did you have an ultrasound?”  
  
“No — I didn’t want to do that without you. But I wanted to be sure there wasn’t something else going on.”  
  
“I think I do need a drink.”  Franky went to their liquor trolley and poured herself a couple of fingers of vodka. She sat down on the lounge pulling Erica with her. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You must have been going crazy holding this by yourself. Why didn’t you feel like you could talk with me about this?” Franky wondered if she had done something wrong, something to indicate to her partner that she couldn’t be trusted to talk through this without behaving badly. She thought she’d worked through her anger stuff pretty well with Gidge over the past year, since her last blow out at Christina.  
  
“Oh, honey. It wasn’t that at all. At first I thought it was a fluke. Then when I missed the second one and I had a couple of mornings throwing up… Honestly, I didn’t even put two and two together. I mean, we haven’t seen the turkey baster in years. Right?”  
  
Franky grinned at her, shakily. “Right.” She took another swig of the vodka. “And I remember you being sick…”  
  
“But when the third month came and went… I should have told you. I just… I don’t know. If there was something bad going on, I wanted to figure out how to prepare you. And if it was just coincidence then we wouldn’t really need to talk about it. I mean, you’re so irregular. I thought maybe I was starting to mimic your cycles.”  
  
“Unh huh,” Franky nodded. She did have very irregular cycles, menstruating maybe five times in a year. The doctor she’d seen in her early teens said to count herself lucky not to have to deal with the mess. That if she wanted to have a baby and couldn’t then they could do some tests. But otherwise she was extremely healthy. And since Franky had always been quite sure she was never having children — definitely not giving birth — she hadn’t really thought much of it.  
  
She downed the rest of her drink and laid back on the lounge. “Fuck. We will figure this out together. And apparently we will have another baby. Are you ready for another baby?”  
  
“I don’t know. I do want more children, but…” She looked away. _What would this baby look like? And where the fuck did it come from? How? When?_ If Franky had any manly bits, she’d certainly have noticed by now. There wasn’t a nook or cranny on either of their bodies they hadn’t mutually explored at length over the past four years. “We need to start house shopping.”  
  
Franky pulled her spouse into her lap against her chest in their favorite repose. “Yes, we should,” she rubbed Erica’s belly absently.  She was confused and angry. She didn’t believe Erica had been unfaithful. Her gut churned at the thought of someone touching her partner. Making her pregnant. Yet deep down, she didn’t believe that had happened. She was more inclined to believe that she had developed superpowers to impregnate Erica herself.  
  
She smiled against Erica’s neck, breathing in her scent. “Maybe I’ve got special skills. Special knocking-up-Miss-Davidson skills.”  
  
Erica, for the first time since she realized she’d missed her third period, felt like this might be okay. “I’m absolutely sure of it. There’s no other way,” she said, turning to kiss her lover again.  
  
**********************  
  
They both stared open-mouthed at the ob-gyn.  
  
“It’s highly unusual. But possible if one or both of you is intersex. Does Franky have a penis?”  
  
Erica began to laugh hysterically. _She has a couple of them. And she knows how to use them much better than Mark ever did. But that is not how this baby came to be._  
  
Franky looked indignant. “No!” she said adamantly. “I’m a girl. Everywhere. Always have been.”  
  
“Well, obviously sperm made it’s way into an egg in Erica’s uterus. And since both your DNA is in the child, Erica did not have a miracle immaculate conception — self-impregnate, to be precise. I’m guessing you must be the biological father. Do you mind if we run some tests on you?”  
  
“Yeah, I mind! Fuckall! If the DNA of the baby says that it’s half Erica and half me, then that’s what she is. Enough said.”  
  
“But so highly irregular, Franky. Don’t you want to understand how this happened? You may want to repeat it,” the doctor said, excitedly.  
  
Erica collapsed against Franky’s chest still laughing. “You knocked me up, Franky Doyle.” She sat up, suddenly serious. “Wait a minute. How has this not happened before? Do you have other children out there?”  
  
Franky swiftly felt herself spiral into panic. She’d had a lot of sex. With a lot of people. She racked her brain for instances of exes or even flings issuing Franky-like offspring.  “I don’t know. What does intersex mean? And how would one self-impregnate?”  
  
“Intersex means that you have sexual organs that are different inside than how you present on the outside. It’s not as unusual as people think, but most intersex aren’t able to reproduce. And gender as well as sexuality aren’t the simple binary most of us grew up thinking them to be. More like a spectrum.” The doctor lowered herself onto a stool across from where Erica still sat on the examination table. They’d just finished the ultrasound; then the doctor had announced the results of the DNA test. “And if you have both male and female sexual organs, and they are functional, it is possible to impregnate oneself. Again, highly, highly unusual. But there are documented cases.”  
  
“So wait,” Franky looked wary, “are you saying I’ve got balls? I do not have a dick!”  
  
“What appear to be ovaries could, in fact, be testes. Or you could have one of each. Or you could have a mix of testicular and ovary tissue there. If you have an enlarged clitoris, it could actually be a micro-penis. Do you menstruate?”  
  
“Not regularly.”  
  
The doctor continued. “Well, it could be that your sperm wasn’t active until now, for some reason. It’s really hard to say. Or maybe the type of sexual activity you have with this partner is somehow more conducive to conception than what you’ve done with others. Could that be it?”  
  
Erica looked at her spouse, arching an eyebrow. “I know exactly when it happened.”  
  
“Yes,” Franky smirked at her, remembering the rough sex they’d had after the most recent hostage thing. “And yes.” She turned back to the doctor. _Okay. So I let Erica do stuff to me that I’ve never let anyone else do. Maybe that inspired the little swimmers. That was crazy intense fucking._ “Erica and I are more… intimate than I’ve been with any of my other partners.”  
  
“Really?” Erica asked softly. She was about to burst. With joy. And pride. She was having Franky’s baby. Franky loved her more than anyone else she’d ever been with. How could life possible get any better?  
  
Franky nodded, blushing slightly. Then kissed her. “Well, as long as the baby is healthy. Are there typical complications from this kind of… uh…. thing that we should be aware of?”  
  
“Not at all. But I recommend you read up on it. And let me know if you want to understand the physiology of your body. It’s got to be fascinating. And enjoy your unique capability.”  
  
“Wait a minute…” Franky reviewed the information in her mind again quickly. “So does this mean that I could self-impregnate?” She went a shade of green.  
  
The doctor smiled at her. “It’s impossible to know without tests to determine what you have going on in there. But if you’ve made your partner pregnant, which the baby’s DNA indicates is the case; and you menstruate…”  
  
“Oi! For fucks sake! That is just wrong!”  
  
“… I was going to say still slim to none possibility of that, or it should have happened already.” The doctor smiled at them, patted Erica’s knee. “You two are amazing.”  
  
“Thank you,” Erica squeezed her hand, trying to tamp down the desire to laugh hysterically again. Franky was freaked out. But she felt great. _How many Franky juniors can we have?_ “This baby is healthy, though, right?” _And if there are other Franky juniors out there, we’re going to find them all and kidnap them! You are an amazing parent and they need to know you._ She smiled at her partner.  
  
“Absolutely. From everything I can tell, you and baby are doing great.”  
  
“Good. Let’s go then, love,” she said, pulling Franky out of the examination room.  
  
Franky looked completely at sea. “Fuckall. Wait till your parents hear that I actually am a freak. I am so looking forward to that conversation!”  
  
Erica stopped in the middle of the corridor. “What?” She looked at Franky, confused.  
  
“Well, jeez, love. What are people going to think when you pop out a mini-me that actually looks like me? Or half and half?” Franky’s expression was now pained. “I don’t know…”  
  
Erica pushed her up against the wall in the medical clinic. They were almost at the exit and people were streaming by them not paying them any attention. Until Erica kissed Franky. Long and deep. When she finished they were both breathless.  
  
“If you think I give a flying fuck what anyone thinks about our children, Franky Davidson-Doyle, you better think again. This is the best. Gift. Ever. You and me,” she dropped her voice as she realized people were staring at them now. “We made a baby together, Franky. Our baby. No one needs to know how it happened. They’re just going to assume we did the insemination thing.”  
  
Franky shook her head focusing on her partner; emerging from her haze of confusion, fear and dread. Erica was watching her intently. Waiting for her to catch up. The blonde’s mouth quirked up into a half smile. That soft, shy smile that Franky had fallen for the very first time she’d seen Miss Davidson.  
  
“Riiiiight,” she said, starting to see the up side of her intersexiness. “It’s going to take me a minute to get used to this.”  
  
“Of course, honey,” Erica took her hand and pulled her out of the clinic toward the carpark. Franky’s Audi. She pushed her still-dazed partner into the passenger seat. “What I want to know is if it’s a one-off. Or can we have more.”  
  
Franky started to turn green again. _How many kids are we gonna have?_ The image of them at the dining table with eight kids flashed in her brain as it had when they were trying for the twins. Erica had informed her they were having more than one. And Franky’s mind had immediately assumed there would be two sets of twins, given that both she and Erica had twins in their families. But there was only one bun in the oven now. “Wait. Can we just get through this one? Three’s a sold number. We already have two.”  
  
“And they’re awesome.” Erica put the car in reverse, backing out of the spot as she talked. “The other thing we should try to find out is if you did this with anyone else. If somewhere out there you have other children.”  
  
Franky looked quickly over at Erica. “Shit. What if I did?” Someone was definitely going to get stabbed over this, if she knew her partner.  
  
“Contrary to what you might think, Francesca Nicole,” Erica said, bristling a bit. She had definitely worked out some of her jealousy issues. Some. And if she was honest, securing a stabbing instrument had been her first thought. “I was thinking maybe you would want to know your other children. They might want to know you, if they’re out there. They should have a chance to know you,” she softened her tone, glancing over at her spouse.  
  
Franky grinned rakishly at her.“I’m betting against that one. First of all, even if it did happen, someone surely would have said something to me by this point, don’t you think? No girl I’ve ever been with has ever called months later and talked about a spontaneous pregnancy. Not a single one. Second of all, if this happened the way I think it happened…” Erica blushed a bright pulsing red. “It had everything to do with you doing to me, then to yourself, what you did. I can count on one hand the number of women I let penetrate me.” She watched Erica’s color deepen as she continued. “I can also count on one hand the number of women who’ve made me actually ejaculate. You almost always make me come that hard, love.”  
  
Erica grinned, feeling a little full of herself. “I was inspired on that particular occasion.”  
  
Franky snorted. “That’s one word for it. It was hot as fuck, though, watching you fuck yourself like that.”  
  
“Franky!”  
  
She slid her hand across the gear shift, onto her spouse’s upper thigh. Erica’s grin broadened. Then Franky’s hand froze. “Ah, hell! I’ve got to tell Stel. What if she’s the same as me? What if Michael gets pregnant accidentally?”  
  
Erica’s demeanor immediately transitioned from hot and bothered into free fall anxiety. _Thank god Michael didn’t get pregnant with Franky._ But now she could easily imagine a scenario where Stella would want a sperm donation if she and Michael decided to settle down and be a family.  _Would I be able to not turn back into a jealous, eye-stabbing harpy if Michael starts having Franky’s babies too? Wouldn’t Franky and I want a donation from Stel if the tables were turned? Yeeesh! But that’s totally different. Stella and I were never together… Fuck!_  
  
Franky looked over at her partner who was now gripping the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver and she was out to sea without a boat. “Slow it down there, Miss Davidson.” Erica glanced at her worriedly then quickly returned her eyes to the road. “The doc said it’s highly unusual…” She pulled out her iphone and googled ‘intersex.’ Her eyes widened. “We got a lot of research to do, love. At any rate, if it is super unusual, it’s unlikely that Stella does have the same… special skills.” She squeezed the firm thigh under her hand. “But she should know about me, and she should get some tests done if she wants to know for sure about herself.”  
  
Erica nodded her head uncertainly. _That she isn’t exactly like you. That’s what worries me._  
  
“I want to run the girls DNA. Giuliana and Michaela.” Erica glanced again at Franky, trying to stay focused on the bright side of this development in their ‘never-a-dull-moment’ lives.  
  
Picturing the babies in her mind, she smiled. She’d always thought Mike was more inclined to behave — act out, really — like her Mama than she should be by just being in Franky’s care. And while Jules’ face was soft and round like Erica’s, Mike’s was narrowing as they got older. She was leaner. With a quick temper but charming as all get out. Was it possible? “Yeah,” she said, squeezing Erica’s thigh gently again. “We should.”  
  
*******************************  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stella stared at Franky, incredulous. Then at Erica. Then back at Franky.  
  
“Nope. Didn’t know. This didn’t happen before. Last time, we artificially inseminated.”  
  
“I know. But how did…” Stella cocked her head like a curious spaniel. “I’ve seen your junk, Franks. You don’t have a dick.”  
  
“I know!” Franky rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Obviously I’m a dickless wonder. But you should get your junk checked before you accidentally knock up your girlfriend.”  
  
Stella’s eyes widened. “No way. I’ve miscarried.”  
  
“Oh no, Stel…” Erica started.  
  
“No. No. It was fine. I didn’t want a baby. Definitely not with that baby daddy. And I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” She stared at her twin who sat across from her on the couch in Franky and Erica’s flat. “Wait, so how…”  
  
Franky arched one eyebrow. “I told you Erica was kinky as fuck.”  
  
Erica blushed, staring at Franky in horror and then smacked her on the back of the head with her open palm. “You did NOT tell her about our sex life.”  
  
Franky squeezed her eyes shut, cringing away from her spouse, rubbing the spot on the back of her had that had been slapped.  
  
Stella launched herself onto Franky’s lap, guffawing and shaking her by the shoulders. Hard. “You are so FUCKING awesome, Franks!” She kissed her all over her face. “Have I ever told you you are my favorite sister ever?” It didn’t matter that Franky was her only sister. She kissed her on each cheek. “I mean seriously? Fucking AWESOME!” She turned her attention to Erica, who was still mortified. “My girl does have a big arse tattoo of a dominatrix on her arm. You didn’t think I would ask, Erica?”  
  
Erica shook her head. “God. I need a drink.” She went to the kitchen in search of a ginger beer.  
  
Stella wrapped her arms around Franky’s head, hugging her tightly. Franky hugged her back. “I guess I need to go see my doc. And you can fill me in with details on exactly how you managed to put a fucking baby in your partner later.” She kissed her head again. “Happy fucking anniversary, girl.”  
  
Franky smiled up at her. It was, in fact, October. She called into the kitchen after Erica. “We can announce the new baby news at our anniversary party, love.”  
  
Erica belched.  
  
*****************************************  
  
Michael lay on her stomach in Stella’s bed naked, reading the Sunday paper. She had bought Stella an espresso machine, which Stella was now using to make two shots of high potency Italian magic. She balanced the two little mugs on a small tray, marveling at the fact that she was even doing this, that she even liked this stuff. But it did make a difference. The flavor was so different than the swill she was used to. And it really lit her up.  
  
She put the tray on the bed near Michael’s arm and laid on her, her crotch snuggled nicely against her girlfriend’s bum. She picked up one of the coffees and balanced it on the dark-haired woman’s shoulder, pushing the long silky locks out of her way across the other shoulder in the process.  
  
“If you’d come stay at the penthouse, we could have coffee brought to us instead of you having to fetch it.” She downed her shot in one go.  
  
“Now where’s the fun in that?” Stella sipped hers. Then kissed the shoulder closest to her.  
  
Michael turned over slowly so as not to dislodge her lover, resting now on her back with her hands clasped behind her head. “We need to talk about this, Stel.”  
  
“No, we don’t.” She sat up straddling Michael’s lap and continued to sip her espresso, eyeing her lover suspiciously. Michael had been pressing her to move into the penthouse. Stella didn’t even want to spend the night there. It made her incredibly uncomfortable having servants around. Michael’s driver was Portuguese. He could be Stella’s uncle. Plus, they’d only been dating a short time. She wasn’t about to become the stereotype lesbian couple with the u-haul after the first date. And she wasn’t sure she was ready to settle down, or even be monogamous. She never had been before.  
  
She hadn’t mentioned that part to Michael. And they hadn’t talked about it, either. How was she to know that Michael wasn’t seeing other people? But then why would she want Stella to move in? And to be fair, both this time and the last time they’d dated, Stella hadn’t had her head turned by anyone else. _Didn’t have the desire to be with anyone but Michael._ She sent that line of thinking to a screeching halt.  
  
“Yes we do,” Michael countered, running her hands up Stella’s thighs. “What are we doing then? What are we going to be doing in a year? Me still having sleepovers at your place?”  
  
Stella took another sip from her espresso. Michael took it from her and downed the rest of it, putting the tiny mug aside. She then sat up and pushed forward knocking Stella onto her back with Michael nestled comfortably between her thighs, looking down at the younger woman. “I’d like to make plans with you, Stel. I love you.” Michael took a deep breath, steeling her nerve for another let down. “I need to know where I stand with you. If you don’t want this, I need to know.”  
  
Stella’s arms went around Michael’s waist, pulling her tightly against her crotch. _So I guess we’re monogamous. Thank you god. I couldn’t stand the thought of you…_ Again, Stella tried to staunch that line of thinking.  “It’s really hard to think when you’re between my legs, all hot and gorgeous in the morning,” Stella hedged, leaning up and kissing her lover. Flipping them over so she was back on top. “What’s your rush? We’ve been together only a few months…”  
  
“Not really. We had almost six months of heated petting before I got pregnant…”  
  
“And dumped me, leaving the country for a year. Unless you know something I don’t, which means I cheated on you a number of times over that year, this is our first real go at a relationship, aye?”  
  
Michael’s gaze grew hard, defensive. “How many times are you going to make me apologize for that? I was an idiot. I realize that now.”  
  
“Me too. And it’s all forgiven. I don’t need any more apologies, deMedici. I do need more time to understand how we are together. Really.” She sighed. “And I don’t know if I can get into servants. Dark- or olive-skinned people bringing me things, doing things for me I can do just fine on my own. It just doesn’t feel right.”  
  
“You want me to hire an all-white house staff?”  
  
“Nah! That’s not what I’m saying… I just… You’re driver looks like my fucking uncle Paolo. And I’ve talked to him. He is Portuguese. He’s a nice guy.”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“So, it just makes me uncomfortable.”  
  
Michael sighed heavily. This was going to be a problem. Unless they bought a much smaller place together. But Michael was used to certain things, a full time nanny for Gianni being one. And fuckall if she was going to clean a house. “Look. Here’s one way to think about this: deMedici Inc. employs this staff of people who do things for the family so that we are free to do other things. And if you become part of the family, you get more free time. To ride your bike. To work out. To rest, sleep, eat well. Maybe you can volunteer somewhere, give back,” Michael watched her carefully. Stella seemed to be considering this. “And they are paid well with full benefits. Maya makes the same as a rookie police officer. And she gets sick time, vacation, and a bonus at Christmas.”  
  
Stella’s eyebrow went up. “Shit. Your cook makes a cop’s wages? Maybe I should shift over to your personal security…”  
  
Michael’s eyebrow went up. “If you want me fucking my security detail, sure. But that seems to be against good protocol.”  
  
“That would be bad,” Stella smiled, then leaned down to kiss her lover, rubbing against her with intent. “You know I’m crazy about you,” she whispered next to the taller woman’s lips as her hand traveled down towards Michael’s center.  
  
She caught the hand. “I hope so. At least come spend next weekend.” She pulled Stella’s hand up to her mouth and kissed the palm, then kissed one finger in particular.  
  
“You gonna put a ring on it?”  
  
“You want me to? Is that what it’s going to take to get you into _my_ bed, Stella D?”  
  
Stella started to respond glibly, but then realized Michael was being serious. And Stella felt a rush of images flood her brain, mostly newspaper headlines about some flunky cop as goldigger partner to bazilionairess cover girl goddess brainiac barrister. She thought her head would explode. “Gaaahhhhh….” She couldn’t find any words. Her vision was spotting and her skin felt all tingly. Had Michael just kind of proposed to her?  
  
Michael turned them over again and kissed Stella deeply, laughing. “Don’t blow a gasket. I can wait. I’ve waited for you before. Just don’t make me wait too long.” She began kissing down Stella’s chest, lower and lower, until…  
  
“Oh shit!” She tangled her fingers in the long, silky black tresses as Michael pulled the younger woman’s legs over her shoulders. _It won’t be long, I’m so fucking hot for you. All the fucking time._ Then Stella stopped thinking altogether.  
  
*********************************************  
  
It was now April. Gianni was nearly 20 months old and Jules and Mike had just turned two years. Michael sat at her desk at FemLaw thinking about what to do for Gianni’s second birthday. The weather was turning chilly in Melbourne. Maybe they could go to Rome for a few weeks where it would be late summer in August, instead of the depth of winter in Australia. The phone on her desk rang. She looked out of her office across the melee of interns and associates working. Bren was there, watching her anxiously. She kept standing up and sitting down, then standing up again.  
  
Michael chuckled. After the hostage incident, Bren’s husband, Dag, had been sentenced to prison. FemLaw had helped her secure a divorce. She’d decided not to interfere in Christina’s life. And she was taking classes, working very hard to shift her battered wife demeanor.  
  
Michael picked up her extension. “Yes, Bren.”  
  
“Ms. deMedici! Ms. Davidson-Doyle’s water broke. Franky asked you to meet them downstairs! I couldn’t decide if it was quicker to come in and tell you, or if calling you was better. But I’m thinking it’s a good thing I called you because…”  
  
Bren was getting better. But instead of not talking, she was now a stream-of-consciousness ongoing chatty Kathy. She hadn’t yet found the right balance. Michael cut her off. “Right, Bren. Thank you. I’ll go immediately.” She grabbed her handbag, her jacket, and jogged out of the office, taking the stairs two at a time until she skidded through the lobby of the building spotting Franky and Erica out front. She ran out into the sunshine, smiling.  
  
“Where's the car?”  
  
“Down the block. I’ll get it, you stay here with Erica,” Franky said.  
  
“Go bag?”  
  
“In the car.”  
  
Michael put her arm around Erica. “How are you, love?”  
  
Erica leaned on her, encircling her waist, and groaned. “Better once we get the alien out. And he’s definitely ready to come out.”  
  
They had found out the sex this time. Because of the unusual circumstances around the conception, they monitored every single thing to do with this pregnancy and the baby’s health.  
  
Michael squeezed her shoulder. “I can’t wait to see him. And I’m so glad you asked me to be with you in the delivery room.”  
  
Erica moaned again. “Franky was pretty much useless last time. And you and I did well in the breathing classes together, aye?” Michael nodded. “Besides. If you and Stella ever decide to procreate, you’re going to need me. I’m guessing she’s more useless even than Franky during a birth.”  
  
Michael chuckled as she nodded her head in agreement. “I think you’re right. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I can’t even get her to move in with me.”  
  
“Just give her time. She’ll figure it out.” Just then Franky arrived, screeched to a halt in front of them in the Volvo. She opened the car window. “Come on love,” she said grinning.  
  
And a scrawny, clearly tweaking guy in a ripped t-shirt and dirty jeans ran up to the car from seemingly nowhere, shoving a gun in Franky’s face. “Give me the car!” He yelled. “Get out! Give me the car! Now.”  
  
Erica froze.  
  
“For fucks sake. We do not have time for this,” Michael said quietly. “Go back inside, Erica. Call 0-0-0.” Erica backed slowly toward the building. Michael stealthily approached the jittery young man from behind.  
  
Franky stared him down, incensed. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” she growled. “My partner’s about to have a baby. We need to get to hospital.”  
  
“Shut up and get ou…”  
  
Michael punched him in the back of the head so hard that he smacked his forehead on the top of the Volvo and fell backward. Knocked out cold. She turned to Erica. “Come on!” she shouted. She scooped up the gun from the asphalt, removed the clip and stuck both into her bag. Then she opened the passenger side door, beckoning.  
  
Erica ran toward the car taking a quick look at the kid on the ground, laughing as she slid into the front seat next to Franky. It had all happened so fast she hadn’t even the time to freak out about her partner being on the wrong end of a gun. Again. _Thelma & Louise. Definitely Thelma & Louise._  
  
Michael closed the door behind Erica then climbed into the back seat between the two baby seats usually occupied by Michaela and Giuliana. “Aint nobody got time for that! Doyle!” She caught Franky’s eye in the rearview mirror. And winked. “You call Boomer to take care of our junky. I’ll call Stel and let her know Erica is in labor.”  
  
“Unbelievable!” Franky said, chuckling herself as she winked back at deMedici. Erica took Franky’s mobile and autodialed Booms, putting her on speaker as her spouse peeled rubber toward Royal Melbourne Hospital.  
  
Less than two hours later, Franky couldn’t understand why she was sobbing, even though she held her newborn son, Francesco Justin Davidson-Doyle in her arms. Erica wanted him to be named after his ‘biological father’ and Franky wanted to name him after Erica’s father, who had been very, very sweet to Franky from the beginning. She suspected he liked her because he recognized her dom energy, but fuckall if she was telling Erica that.  
  
“Jesus, babe,” she sobbed out as she made her way across the room to Erica’s bed. He had tiny wisps of straight blond hair plastered to his head and his eyes were that grayish color that babies with light eyes will have for the first month or two. But they were tinged with green. “The girls are going to go crazy over him.” She gently placed him in Erica’s arms.  
  
Before even looking at him, Erica reached for Franky, pulling her into a long, heartfelt kiss. “We’re all going to go crazy over him. I love you so much.” Then she finally looked at her boy. And promptly burst into tears. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.  
  
Even deMedici was tearing up. She had been there through the labor and delivery proving much more useful as a birthing partner than Franky had been. “Ok. I’m going to give you guys a few minutes.”  
  
“No!” Franky said beckoning her to the bedside. “Stay, deMedici.”  
  
“Ummm,” the nurse said from across the room. “I’m sorry. What do we put on the birth certificate? For the name of the father?”  
  
Michael frowned. _Really? This is the question that has to be answered right now?_ “The same thing that went on the last one, aye?!?” Then she muttered under her breath so that only Franky could hear her, “moron.”  
  
“Actually,” Franky started, waving her hands at the doc. “Ah, Michael? Would you mind going to let Stel and the Davidson brood know that our baby boy is here?”  
  
When Michael had cleared the room, the doctor continued to address the nurse. “Francesca Nicole Davidson-Doyle,” she said, matter-of-factly. “It’s technically correct.”  The nurse looked extremely confused. “Just do it!” she ordered, smiling at Franky and Erica. “We’ll need to change the ones for your girls, too.” She smiled bigger. “Wowee. The Davidson-Doyle clan is the most amazing family I have ever met. I really am so pleased to be your doctor.”  
  
Franky kissed Erica’s forehead. “Yes. We are an amazing family.” She kissed the baby’s head. “I can’t believe it,” she said softly, tears still falling.  
  
Stella and Nic came in first, each one holding one of the twins who immediately reached out for Franky and Erica. “Mama! Mommy!” they both shouted, wriggling to get down. “Baby brother!” They were excited to see the new addition to the family, having talked about it ceaselessly once they finally understood there was a baby in Mommy’s belly and that baby would come out and be their brother.  
  
Franky took Mike from Nic and held her like an airplane, zooming in slowly to see her mommy and new brother up close.  
  
“Only one, Mommy?” Mike asked.  
  
Franky practically dropped her onto Erica’s belly. “What?”  
  
Mike looked at her earnestly as if it were the most obvious question in the world.  
  
“Me ’n Mike. Where is ‘Chesco’s twin, Mama?” Jules chimed in with the same innocence as her sister.  
  
“Oh Jesus,” Erica groaned. Franky looked at her with one eyebrow up, then winked mischievously. “Don’t even think about it! No more sex until he’s two! Two years, Franky Doyle!” She yawned.  
  
Franky put Michaela down and reached for Francesco, just as many more Davidsons, led by Michael, entered the room. _Riiiigght. Like that’s gonna happen._ “Shh. Rest love,” she grinned at Erica then moved away to show their new son to the in-laws.  
  
Finito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking this second Frerica / Rush crossover ride with me. There may be a third installment, but not for awhile. They are all getting too happy together, and happy is boring. And even I'm not ready to put Franky through any more trauma right now. So I may dally in some one-offs for awhile. Thanks again for reading.


End file.
